


people, i've been sad

by voldysnose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Lots of Classic Lit References, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-War, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, literally they are so dumb, specifically jane austen, teenagers being stupid, u are welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:47:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24594772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voldysnose/pseuds/voldysnose
Summary: two nineteen year-olds a year after the battle of hogwarts processing the intense trauma they've been thru, doing stupid things that they never got to do before, and falling in love
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 118





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title based on the christine and the queens song because i LOVE her

**May 1999**

Harry is reading on the couch in the living room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, when suddenly a head appears in his fireplace.

“Harry!” Ginny yells. He jumps, spilling his tea all over his lap.

“Merlin, Ginny, way to warn a man!” Smiling, Harry sets down his mug and attempts to mop up the wet patch on his jeans with his blanket. “What can I do for you this fine evening?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to the ball?” She frowns. “You spent all that time and effort in helping rebuild Hogwarts, and you don’t even want to celebrate its reopening?”

Harry, quite used to Ginny’s peer pressure, shakes his head. “I know Gin, really, I don’t feel up to it. But have a great time. Say hi to everyone for me.”

She pouts. “McGonagall is gonna be upset you didn’t show.”

“Nah, she won’t,” he responds, picking up his tea again. “That lady is sick of me by now. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled that I’m relaxing at home instead of spending every waking minute fixing the castle up.” Rolling his eyes at the wounded expression on Ginny’s face, Harry shoos her off. “You’ll be late if you keep this up! Goodbye! Have fun!”

Her head disappears and Harry is left to the crackling of his fireplace and his book. He feels a tinge of guilt at leaving his friends to attend the Hogwarts Reopening without him, but the thought of returning to the castle and seeing everyone who survived the war – and remembering those who didn’t – seems like too big a task for this Saturday evening. He keeps in contact with everyone he wants to see anyway. And he is expecting quite the rundown the next day at the Weasley’s weekly Sunday dinner.

\---

The next day, Harry gets out of bed at one pm. He’s not quite sure why, seeing as he went to bed at a reasonable time the night before; maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was tossing and turning until the early hours of the morning. He probably shouldn’t have lit a fire in May, it’s way too warm in his house for that. And to be fair, he had woken up before noon, but his bed was just so comfortable that he couldn’t muster the energy to get up for an hour or so. It’s not like he has anywhere else to be except the Weasley’s at five pm.

Harry trudges down the narrow staircase to the kitchen, where he makes himself a cup of coffee and scrounges around for something to eat. He decides to whip up a couple of eggs, and after eating them out of the pan in front of the sink, he heads back upstairs to shower and find something acceptable to wear.

He wastes the rest of the afternoon lounging about, doing some tidying, and otherwise preoccupying himself with odd jobs around the house. Kreacher appears no less than four times to try and persuade Harry to let him do the cleaning.

“Master Potter,” Kreacher wails the fourth time he appears. “Master Potter must not do Kreacher’s job! Let Kreacher do the cleaning of Grimmauld Place. You must.”

“Sorry,” Harry shrugs. “Look, you do enough around here. You can finish up when I leave and go to Molly and Arthur’s, okay?” Kreacher shoots him a foul look and disappears with a crack. Sighing, Harry finishes making his bed and checks the time. Nearly 5:15. Satisfied that he won’t be the first person there, Harry apparates to the Burrow.

Not bothering to knock on the door, he steps inside and encounters a still-empty home. Rounding the corner, he glimpses Molly standing in the kitchen, stirring a pot of chili and humming to herself.

“That’s not Celestina Warbeck, is it?” Harry grins.

“Oh, Harry, my dear boy!” Molly whirls around and gathers him into her arms in a warm hug. “You’ve caught me. You look too skinny, are you eating enough? Here, have some chili. Tell me if it needs anything.” Before he can protest, she ladles a huge helping into a bowl and forces it into his hands.

Harry blows on the chili before taking a bite. “Delicious as always,” he declares with his mouth full. “Doesn’t need a thing.”

“That’s my boy,” she replies, patting him on the arm. “Would you mind calling Arthur in? Everyone else should be arriving at any second. I think he’s just in the back there.”

Making his way into the backyard, Harry encounters Arthur lying underneath Sirius’s old motorbike. “Decided to have a go at fixing the old thing, huh?” He asks wryly, taking another bite of chili.

Arthur emerges and wipes his brow, leaving a smear of dark grease across his forehead. “Harry! Why yes indeed! I think there was nothing wrong with it in the first place, actually, and it just needed…what do they call it…petrol? Yes. But I wanted to get a good look before I handed it off to you.”

“Handed it off to me?” Harry shakes his head. “You can keep it, Arthur, I really have no use for a flying motorcycle. You could use something to keep you busy now that you’re retired, besides.”

Climbing to his feet, Arthur casts a quick cleaning charm and the grease disappears from his hands and face. He puts a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I insist, my boy. It’s rightly yours. Thank you for letting me play around with it.”

Harry blinks, suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed. “Er. Wow. Thank you.”

Arthur smiles. “Shall we head inside? Hopefully the rest of my children have arrived by now. You’d think at least one of them would have a watch…”

As soon as they walk back into the house, Hermione ambushes Harry with a hug.

“Missed you yesterday,” she says. “The work you did on the castle…phenomenal, Harry, really. It looks amazing. Good as new.”

“It wasn’t just me,” Harry mumbles. “Dozens of people helped. All the professors, and everything…”

“Still. Everyone was talking about how much you contributed. I just thought you should know.”

He shrugs, uncomfortable with the compliment. “Thanks, ‘Mione.”

She fixes Harry with a piercing gaze, then sighs good-naturedly, all the tension going out of her body. “Oh, never mind that! We have lots of stories to tell you. Maybe not while Molly and Arthur are in the room though.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. Grinning, he says, “Got a little rowdy, did you?”

“Not me!” Hermione protests. “The others, maybe. I have a reputation to uphold, you know. Didn’t want to give McGonagall a glimpse of what goes on during pub nights.”

“Can you imagine? McGonagall getting pissed with us? Eurgh, I don’t want to think about it.”

“What’s this about McGonagall?” Ron comes up behind them and interrupts the conversation, slinging one arm around Harry and the other around Hermione.

“Nothing important,” Harry says. “Why don’t you debrief me on all the goings-on at the ball? Apparently it was quite the scene.”

Ron shrugs. “I thought it was pretty chill. Loads of people showed up, I’d forgotten about most of them to be honest. Talked with Luna some, we definitely have to invite her over sometime. But everyone else ‘Mione and I have seen recently cause of our NEWTS.”

“We talked to the Slytherins too, did you mention that? They were very pleasant.” Seeing Harry’s face, she adds, “ALL of them Harry, they were all very polite. I’m rather impressed that they came and spoke with everyone. I think a real effort is being made to heal the divide between all the houses. Anyway, I think Ginny had the most exciting night out of all of us.”

Hearing her name from across the kitchen, Ginny hollers, “WHAT WAS THAT?” She hands George a serving spoon before making her way to the trio. “You talking about me?”

Harry is suddenly glad he wasn’t at the ball. It’s not that he has anything against any of the Slytherins – he spoke at their trials, in fact – but he doesn’t need their presence in his life right now. Right now, he is with his best friends and family, enjoying Molly’s terrific cooking, and finally celebrating the restorations after the war. Bringing himself back to the moment, Harry pokes Ginny in the side. “Heard you had quite the adventure last night. Care to fill me in?”

“Aha! You three couldn’t hold off on talking about me for five minutes.” She doesn’t sound upset in the slightest. “You missed out on a fun night Harry, you should have been there.”

“So you three keep saying. Now, are you going to tell me, or leave me wondering for the rest of time?”

“Ron and I saw you leave with one Mr. Blaise Zabini last night,” Hermione says.

“Ah, yes, I thought you might bring that up. As it happens,” replies Ginny, “we got to talking during the ball. Not about anything in particular, he asked how quidditch was going, apparently he loves the Holyhead Harpies. And we talked about the castle and the restorations. Blaise’s been very involved with children who lost their parents during the war, which, I mean, good for him. But mostly just life in general. He really is a charming man. And hung like a—”

Ron cuts her off with a screech. “Gin! I did NOT want to know that.”

“Me either.” Harry winces. “Is it bad that I don’t remember Blaise from school? Is he in your year?”

Ginny shrugs. “Nah, you had other things going on. He was in your year, and full disclosure – you might be seeing him around. I’m just warning you in advance.”

“Appreciate it,” Ron mutters sarcastically. “Would have also appreciated not knowing his dick size.”

She shoots them a mischievous smile as she skips away to help George with the plates. “Are you three helping with dinner or not?”

Harry exchanges a look with his best friends. “Might as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ty for reading & pls excuse my copious comma usage! also i'd like to say fuck jk rowling and her transphobic ass, what a time to be publishing this fic.


	2. Chapter 2

**June 1999**

The month of May passes with little fanfare. Harry spends it cleaning Grimmauld Place, to Kreacher’s immense distaste, sleeping, and learning to cook things other than eggs. But mostly, he goes to bed early and wakes up late, eats very little, and tries to get out of the house a couple times a week to see his friends. Now that NEWT results have arrived, most of them are busy applying for jobs and internships. Ron has started Auror training, and Hermione has been welcomed to St. Mungo’s as an intern in the Spell Damage ward. Both of their hours are long and whenever Harry sees the pair, they’re exhausted. Ginny has received her official welcome to the Holyhead Harpies, so now even she’s wrapped up with practice and constant travel. Harry’s tired too, all the time, though he doesn’t have a reason for it. Sure, his sleep has been interrupted by nightmares practically every night, but he feels like it’s not really an excuse.

One mid-afternoon in early June he forces himself out of bed, walks down the long dark staircase of Grimmauld Place, through the dark narrow kitchen, into the ugly dark sitting room, and realizes he is sick of it.

That night he apparates to Ron and Hermione’s flat for dinner, uninvited but knowing he will be welcome anyway. The pair are sitting on the couch drinking wine and greet Harry when he appears in the middle of the room.

“Harry! Were we expecting you tonight, mate?” Ron asks.

“Er, no,” he replies. “Sorry for just appearing like this actually, but I need to ask you…do you think I should move? Like, do you think that’s okay?”

Hermione sets down her glass and pats the sofa next to her. “I think that’s a good idea, Harry. Being in that big house by yourself can’t be good for your mental health. Where are you gonna go?”

“I dunno.” Harry takes a seat, squishing between his two best friends. “I’ve barely thought about it. It’s just too dark in Grimmauld Place. And damp. And old. But I feel like…d’ you think Sirius would be okay with it? Me selling his house?”

“Sirius would want you to do whatever will make you happy,” she responds gently.

“And I will definitely not miss Walburga,” Ron puts in. “TRAITORS AND FILTH!”

Despite himself, Harry laughs. “You have a point. Thanks, you both.”

Hermione drains the rest of her wine. “Staying for dinner? It’s Ron’s turn to cook.”

“I cooked yesterday!” he protests. “ _You_ didn’t have a long day learning how to fill out paperwork. Seriously, Harry, you dodged a bullet by deciding not to become an Auror. At this rate my job is going to be 80% bureaucracy and 20% field work. Merlin.”

“Ronald, I absolutely _did_ have a long day of learning how to fill out paperwork. And filing. Is that all interns are good for these days?” Hermione grimaces.

“Sorry mate,” Harry says to Ron sympathetically. “Hermione’s won this one.” Ron grumbles as he pushes himself off the couch and heads into the kitchen, but Harry can tell he doesn’t really mind. He pours himself a good helping of their wine, helps set the table, and begins to daydream about what his new flat will look like. He’s thinking somewhere close to Ron and Hermione and Ginny, somewhere with lots of windows and a big fireplace and absolutely no screaming portraits.

\---

Harry meets Ginny after her quidditch practice the next day. They haven’t caught up in a couple weeks, and have decided to go for happy hour drinks. Not long after Harry arrives at the pitch, Ginny walks up to him, her ginger hair in a ponytail, face red from the exercise and heat of the day.

“Is that what you’re wearing to the pub?” Harry asks, eyeing her sweaty uniform.

She swats at him. “No, you dummy, I didn’t want to make you wait for me while I showered. Side-along?”

They apparate back to Ginny’s flat, which lies right around the corner from Ron and Hermione’s. Harry throws himself onto her sofa as she heads into the bathroom to shower. He amuses himself by flipping through one of her Quidditch magazines, musing if he should get a new broom or not. He hasn’t flown in ages; maybe the new Nimbus will inspire him to get back into it.

Shortly, Ginny emerges barefoot into the living room, squeezing her wet hair with a towel.

“How are the Harpies?” inquires Harry. “Your fly is unbuttoned, by the way.”

“Did I _ask_ for a critique of my style?” she says, tossing her towel over the back of a chair and doing up the buttons on her jeans. “They’re amazing. Playing with them is a dream come true, really.” Ginny pauses, contemplative, and tucks in her cream-colored blouse. “I won’t be playing much this season, of course, but even practice with everyone is incredible. I can’t wait for you to come to our first game.”

“Invited, am I? Have I been forgiven that easily for making fun of your outfits? You’re not wearing shoes either,” he points out.

She rolls her eyes and bends down to pull on a pair of socks. “Keep this up and you won’t be. Ready to go? By the way, Blaise and some of his friends are meeting us there. I hope you don’t mind.”

Harry snorts. “Thanks for letting me know at the last possible minute, Gin. You and Blaise still going strong, then?”

“Yup, we’re official,” Ginny beams. “I really like him, so be nice tonight. You owe me.”

“I owe you? For what?” Harry says, indignant. “And I’m always nice.”

She sniffs, tugging on a pair of black boots. “Not when it comes to Malfoy.”

He starts. “Malfoy? Since when are Malfoy and Blaise friends?”

Ginny gives him an incredulous look. “They’ve always been friends. Blaise was a Slytherin, didn’t you know?” Seeing his expression, she sighs. “I forgot you didn’t remember him from school. Come on, it’ll be fine.” Before he can get another word in, she’s grabbed Harry’s hand and side-alonged him to face the Slytherins.

Blaise, Malfoy, and Pansy are already sitting at a booth when Harry and Ginny arrive. Harry takes one look at them laughing at some inside joke and stops at the front of the room, refusing to go further. “Ginny!” Harry hisses. “I did not sign up for this.”

She rolls her eyes, pushing him forward. “Keep going, you great oaf. I know how much you hate talking to people who aren’t part of your immediate friend group, but it’ll be fine.”

“Seriously, Gin, I don’t want to be here,” he pleads. “I thought it was going to be just us tonight.”

She sighs, exasperated. “Really, Harry? We’re already here, come on. I knew you’d act like this and that’s why I didn’t tell you earlier, okay? But you’re my best friend and I really want you and Blaise to get along, it would mean a lot to me.”

Harry makes a face. She really was fantastic at guilt-tripping him into things. “Fine! Fine, I’ll come. But you’re paying for my drinks.”

Ginny grins. “It’s a deal.”

Blaise is sitting across from Pansy and Malfoy but climbs out of the booth when he sees them approach. “Harry Potter!” He exclaims, firmly shaking Harry’s hand. “Pleasure.”

“Er, likewise,” he responds. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Ginny, it’s good to finally, um, meet. Malfoy, Parkinson.” Harry nods at Blaise’s companions, who remain seated. Pansy wears a pleasant expression on her face and is sipping delicately on a glass of rose.

“Hey, Potter,” she greets him as he slides into the booth, directly across from Malfoy. “Nice work on the castle, by the way.”

“Oh, er, thanks.” He coughs. “It wasn’t all me, though. Just helped out a bit.”

“Harry, I’m gonna get us drinks, I’ll be right back,” Ginny interrupts. “ _You_ can get the next round.” She jabs a fierce finger at Blaise.

“Terrifying girl,” Blaise says admiringly. “I’d better go after her.” Harry watches as they disappear into the crowd, then returns his attention to the Slytherins sitting across from him. Malfoy is studying him thoughtfully, chin resting in one hand, the other wrapped around a fancy looking cocktail. It doesn’t escape Harry’s notice that he wears dozens of rings on his skinny fingers, some large, some smaller, mixing both silver and gold. He’s stopped slicking back his hair too; it’s grown out a bit and falls gently around his face. Combining that with an impossibly stylish black long-sleeved button up, Harry is forced to admit that Malfoy looks a world away from the pale, scared boy he once knew.

He desperately scrapes his brain for something to break the awkward silence. “Congrats on finishing your NEWTS, you both.”

Pansy sets down her wine, relieved to have a conversation opener. “Thanks, Potter. It was quite the ordeal, let me tell you. Once you’ve been through a war, exams seem absolutely pointless.”

Harry laughs. “Believe me, I know. That’s why I didn’t do them. Studying was even a struggle for Hermione, which is saying something.”

“How are Granger and Weasley?” Malfoy asks, playing with the wooden stirrer in his drink. His voice is deeper than Harry remembers, a bit rough, and surprisingly soft.

Harry looks over at him, a bit taken aback by the politeness of his inquiry. “Good, thanks. They’re both doing training right now, Hermione’s at St. Mungo’s and Ron’s in the Ministry.”

“She got the internship, then?” murmurs Malfoy. “She was very concerned about it the last time we spoke.”

“The last time you spoke?” Harry frowns.

Malfoy scoffs, suddenly sounding much more like the boy Harry’s used to. “The ball, Potter. Unfortunately you did not grace us with your presence, but everyone else who’s ever set foot in Hogwarts was there, you know.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’m aware. I’m sure I was greatly missed. I just forgot you were there.”

“No need to be sarcastic,” Malfoy drawls. “Although I’m surprised you were able to forget so quickly that Granger and I are friendly.”

“Draco,” Pansy chides, but somehow Harry isn’t all that offended. Malfoy’s comment didn’t have any edge to it; it seemed like something he said out of habit rather than something he actually meant to be insulting.

“I know it must be hard to not be the center of attention,” Harry replies coolly.

“On the contrary. It’s a relief that you’re not obsessed with me anymore.” This time Malfoy’s words have a bit of bite to them, but before Harry can retaliate, Ginny and Blaise reappear. Ginny passes him a pint and then slides into the booth next to him.

“What’d we miss?” she asks innocently, batting her eyelashes.

To Harry’s immense surprise, Malfoy laughs. It’s not a fake laugh either, it’s a genuine chuckle that Harry would have never expected to hear come out of his mouth. “You horrible woman,” he says. “And you, Blaise, really? Leaving us alone with poor Potter the second you arrived? Horrible, both of you.”

“Speak for yourself,” Pansy says. “I was having a very nice conversation with Potter, until Draco started trying to rile him up.”

Malfoy gasps. “Betrayal! New friends, is what I need.”

Harry watches the whole thing with amusement. This evening is certainly not turning out how he suspected, but somehow he doesn’t mind. Malfoy and Pansy begin to bicker, and soon Blaise joins in. They playfully tease each other for a while, not unlike Harry’s own friends. After a while, Ginny leans her head against his shoulder.

“They’re nice, right?” she asks, softly so the Slytherins don’t hear.

Harry rests his cheek on the top of her head, her hair tickling his face. “Not sure about nice, but honestly, they’re not bad. I could use another drink, though.”

She chuckles, letting him out of the booth. “It’s your turn this time, just put it on my tab. Oh, and can you get me a vodka soda?” she calls as he heads to the bar.

As he waits for the bartender to take his order, Harry takes advantage of the moment alone to close his eyes. He’s the kind of tired that makes his eyes burn when he closes them, tonight he really wasn’t prepared to make small talk with three people he hasn’t seen in a year. Harry just wants to go home, but then remembers the oppressive silence of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, and he really doesn’t want to go back there at the end of the night.

“Taking a nap, Potter?” Malfoy’s sharp voice snaps him out of his rumination. Harry opens his eyes to find him leaning against the bar, holding a now empty glass and looking extremely impatient.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” he mutters. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Have you even ordered drinks yet?” Malfoy frowns and pushes in front of Harry, signaling to the girl working there. They order, and as they wait for their drinks, he eyes Harry. “What’s the matter with you?” he asks.

Harry bristles. “Nothing’s the matter with me,” he says defensively.

“Tired after a long day of doing nothing?” sneers Malfoy.

“Why are you even here?” Harry retorts. “Seriously, did you just come over here to make me miserable?”

Malfoy snorts. “Not everything is about you, you know. I came over here because Ginny and Blaise were being overly adorable and Pansy was being annoying. That woman, honestly.”

As he looks at Malfoy’s pinched face, all the fight drains out of Harry and he sighs. “Look, mate, I didn’t mean to insult you. Crowds just aren’t my thing, and I don’t like talking to strangers.”

“I’d hardly call myself a stranger, Potter.” Malfoy levels his grey eyes at Harry. From somewhere behind them sounds the clink of several drinks being placed on the counter. Before the bartender can leave, Malfoy tears his piercing gaze away from Harry and stops her. “And two shots of firewhiskey. Please.”

She nods and shortly returns with two enormous shot glasses. “Cheers,” Malfoy says, picking up his whiskey. Harry does the same, and after clinking it against Malfoy’s, throws his head back and downs the whole thing. He winces as it sears the back of his throat, but the warm feeling that it leaves in his stomach is most welcome. He’ll need it, if he’s to face the rest of the night with a smile on his face.

Before he can pick up the tray of drinks and bring it back to their booth, Malfoy stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to say this to you only once,” he says in that soft, rough voice. “I’ll be the first to admit that I was a posh git when we were at Hogwarts. But after the war, the Slytherins fought hard to prove that we learned and changed, that we’re worthy of redemption, and everyone else seemed to agree that ideological rifts – whether that be between houses, muggle-borns and purebloods, what have you – only do damage.”

“I know that,” Harry argues, not understanding where this is going. “As if I wasn’t part of those efforts.”

Malfoy ignores him and continues. “All I’m saying is that now that Blaise and Ginny are together, I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other and I would rather avoid arguing every time, if it’s all the same to you.”

No matter how much Harry wants to argue that Malfoy started the argument in the first place, he does have a fair point. It has only been a month, sure, but Ginny and Blaise seem to be together for the foreseeable future. And it’s not like being friendly will cost Harry anything. “I suppose,” he admits. “Now, are you going to help me carry these drinks back to the table or what?”

Reaching out a delicate hand, Malfoy picks up his drink and follows him back to the table. Harry picks his way through the crowd, trying not to spill any vodka soda on his jeans while processing their conversation to the best of his partially-tipsy abilities. Getting along with Malfoy? What an evening this was turning out to be.

As it nears seven o’clock, Harry is beginning to curse himself for not having a hard out. His stomach is growling, and at this point it’s just Blaise, Ginny, and Pansy having a loud conversation as he listens. Malfoy adds a sarcastic comment every now and again, but for the most part seems off in his own little world. Harry was hoping that he and Ginny would have some time alone to actually catch up, but it doesn’t seem likely.

Yawning, despite the early hour, Harry pokes Ginny in the side. “Might get going,” he mumbles.

She glances at the clock. “Already? I guess we began this excursion rather early. Alright, we’re off,” she announces to Blaise, standing up and slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“You don’t have to leave,” Harry protests, but she ignores him.

Ginny leans over to kiss Blaise. “This was lovely, good to see you Pansy, Malfoy. Let’s do this again soon.”

Harry waves awkwardly to Pansy and Malfoy, the latter of whom crooks an elegant eyebrow and takes a sip of his drink, before following Ginny as she sweeps out of the bar. They emerge onto a crowded street full of people hurrying past the small pub on their way home from work. The setting sun casts a golden light over all the buildings and as dusk approaches, London is no longer sweltering hot.

“Did you have a good time?” asks Ginny anxiously before they’ve even taken two steps.

He nods. “Blaise seems really great, I’m happy for you two.”

“Thanks,” she replies, taking his arm and leading them down the street. “Really, thank you for coming to meet them all.”

“Er—” Harry fidgets. He’s always found it a bit uncomfortable when people praise him or thank him, and Ginny is no exception. Not sure how to respond, he instead changes the subject. “Are you hungry? Can we watch the Bake Off and order takeaway?”

Laughing, Ginny agrees. “Yes, please. Oh hey, I hear you’re moving! Finally! You have to let me help you find a place.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” replies Harry. Too tipsy to apparate safely back to Ginny’s flat, they meander slowly down the street, enjoying the last of the daylight as they crack jokes on the way home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> moving, smoking on the roof, overthinking

Harry isn’t quite sure where to begin the process of moving into a new flat. Hermione is gracious enough to set up a few appointments for him to look at flats in their neighborhood, so that is where he heads. After looking at a place off a noisy street, another place with windows that face directly to another building, one with saggy floorboards, and another one that just doesn’t feel right, he’s about to give up. At least for today, he’s sure Hermione will return tomorrow with an even longer list.

Just as Harry exits the last place he’s looked at, he receives an owl from Ginny. It’s just one line and the slip of paper contains a time and address that’s not too far from where he currently is. He has barely enough time to grab a tea from a shop nearby and make it to his appointment on time.

As soon as Harry steps into the apartment, he knows it’s the one. He’s quite surprised that it only took a day and not even a dozen flats to decide on the perfect one for him, but as he gazes around at the big windows, brick walls, and modern kitchen, Harry can’t imagine looking for anything else. He signs the lease that night, excited to be out of Grimmauld Place as soon as possible.

Before he leaves the flat, Harry owls Ginny back, knowing she’ll be pleased that it was her suggestion that worked out in the end. _It was perfect_ , he writes, smiling to himself. She always loves to be right.

Kreacher is happy to help Harry pack up everything he needs to leave. Harry isn’t selling Grimmauld Place, instead he thinks he’ll donate it to the Ministry to use as a safe house for any employees that don’t have a home or need a safe place to stay for a little while. That way, Kreacher can stay (and won’t have to feud with Harry about the housework), and the Black home will be used for something good. Harry thinks Sirius would be proud.

He doesn’t want to stay for longer than he has to, and so within the same week, he’s completely moved into his new flat. There’s not much by way of decoration, just what he needs, but Harry hopes that over the years he’ll collect things that mean something to him and the blank walls and empty bookshelves will slowly fill up with beautiful and interesting objects.

The first night in the flat, all of Harry’s friends invite themselves over for a housewarming party. It was supposed to be a casual thing, Ginny had said she’d just mention it to a few people, but Neville arrives first with Hannah Abbott and it’s just dominoes from there. Seamus and Dean come next, enthusiastically greeting Harry and saying it’d been much too long since they’d last gotten together. Luna appears with Ron and Hermione, and then Ginny, Blaise, Pansy and Malfoy step out of the floo. Harry inwardly groans. As much as he loves his friends, this was turning into a much bigger event than expected. Even George and Angelina show; Harry is delighted that they’ve brought prototypes from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes for everyone to test out. Sure, there might be some scorch marks on the ceiling the next day, but it would be worth it.

After the better part of an hour spent saying hi to everyone and catching up, Harry finds a moment of reprieve in the kitchen. His head is beginning to ache from the loud music and nonstop conversation. He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes, but finding it doesn’t do much of anything, decides to step out and get some fresh air.

He heads up to the roof of his building, seeing as he’s on the top floor now and it’s much closer than the street. He has to jiggle the handle a few times before it swings open, and once he’s emerged outside, Harry places a stone between the door and the frame so he won’t be locked outside all night.

He takes a few steps onto the roof before glimpsing another figure standing by the railing. The figure turns around and despite the dim light, Harry can see that it’s Malfoy. The wind is whipping his blond hair around his face, and he’s wearing the same black shirt he was wearing at the pub that first night, but his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and he looks significantly more relaxed than Harry’s ever seen him.

“Sorry, didn’t realize anyone was out here,” Harry says.

Malfoy shrugs. “Don’t apologize to me, it’s your roof.” He has a fair point, and so Harry makes his way towards him.

“It’s nice up here,” Malfoy says as he comes nearer.

“Bit loud downstairs,” replies Harry. “Was starting to get a headache. Crowds, and all that.”

“Why’d you host a big party then?” Malfoy asks, tapping ash off the end of a cigarette. He’s wearing his many rings again, and they glitter in the moonlight.

Harry squints at the object between his fingers. “That’s not a regular cig, is it?”

He smirks. “Want a hit, Potter?”

Harry finds himself taking the blunt from Malfoy’s fingers. Never in a million years did he expect to be getting high on the roof with Draco Malfoy, but then again, nothing in his life turned out to be normal. They stand like that for a while, passing it back and forth and admiring the sprawl of London below them. There’s a pleasant breeze, and it’s not too hot for a midsummer night. Harry tries to pat down his hair as the wind tears through it; he’s sure he looks absolutely ridiculous, at least compared to Malfoy, who somehow seems strangely elegant and very human with a blunt in his hand.

Taking a drag, Harry hands it back to Malfoy. “To answer your question,” he says, “My friends thought it would be a good idea. I didn’t realize how many people they were inviting until they all showed up.” He makes a face.

“Weaselette is quite the pushy one, isn’t she,” comments Malfoy, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth. Harry starts to tell him off, but Malfoy beats him to it. “Calm down, Potter, it wasn’t an insult. She’s lovely, but you can’t deny that she likes to get her way.”

“You have a point.” Harry accepts the blunt from him and after taking the final hit, grinds it out on the railing. He coughs. “Er, where’d you get this from, by the way?”

Malfoy straightens up. “Goyle,” he says proudly. Taking a look at Harry, he adds cautiously, “It’s kind of strong, by the way.”

“Thanks for telling me earlier,” Harry says sarcastically. “I’m gonna take a seat.” He sinks to the ground, resting his back against the railing. It’s not particularly comfortable, but he’s not really in a state to notice.

“I will _not_ be sitting on the ground like that.” Malfoy’s voice comes from somewhere above him.

“Come on, it’s not even that dirty.” To prove his point, Harry runs a finger along the cement. It comes away covered in dust and Malfoy sneers.

“Not even that dirty. Potter, you astound me.” But after casting a careful cleaning charm he takes a seat, to Harry’s delight.

They lapse into silence again, something Harry is more than happy to do. Everyone always expects something out of him, but not Malfoy. With Malfoy, he can just sit in peace and enjoy the fresh night air, left to his own thoughts. It’s interesting, really, how he used to care so much about everything Malfoy did, how Harry would work himself up, convinced that he was always up to something. After the war, somehow he forgot that the Slytherin was ever such a prominent figure in his life. He had other things to worry about, or perhaps this was the first time in his life where he hadn’t had to worry. But, sitting quietly on the balcony, Harry doesn’t know how he could have ever forgotten. Except now Malfoy’s presence is refreshing rather than irritating. He seems perfectly content to enjoy Harry’s company without exchanging a word.

After a while, Harry breaks the silence. “You’re really not that bad, you know.” His voice sounds miles away from him, but Malfoy doesn’t seem to notice.

“What a mighty high compliment, Potter,” he replies wryly. “That must have really cost you.”

Harry looks over at the boy next to him. Malfoy is leaning against the rail, arms resting casually atop his knees. He’s playing with his rings, Harry notices, twisting them around his fingers as he stares off into the night.

“Do they mean anything?” he asks, gesturing to his hands.

Malfoy looks down, as if he’s just realizing what he’s doing. “No, not really. I found some of them in different shops over the years and some of them are family heirlooms. I just like wearing them.”

“They’re nice,” agrees Harry.

Malfoy smirks. “ _Two_ whole compliments? Truly, I’m honored.”

He rolls his eyes. “I take it back, you’re a git.”

“And yet, somehow I don’t believe you.”

“Do you smoke a lot?” Harry asks, changing the subject. He’s genuinely curious, now wondering if he was high that first time they met at the pub.

Shrugging, Malfoy twists his rings around his fingers again. “Enough.”

Tempted as he is to ask what exactly that means, Harry decides not to press the matter. Instead he leans his head against the railing and gazes up at the sky, wishing they could see the stars. Now that he lives in London, the sky is never clear at night, and often Harry finds himself longing for Hogwarts and the quiet countryside.

“Should we go back in?” asks Malfoy, sounding reluctant.

Harry shakes his head. “You can, I don’t feel like it. I’ll see all these people tomorrow at the weekly Weasley dinner anyway.”

Malfoy snorts. “How’s that for alliteration. In that case, I’ve got a question for you -- why didn’t you get your NEWTS with the rest of the Gryffindors?”

Blinking, Harry takes a second to respond. “You really just come out and say it, huh?” he says, though he suspects he shouldn’t be one to talk. “Er, I dunno. I didn’t feel like going back to school after everything that happened.”

“Technically you did go back to school,” Malfoy points out, looking over at him. “You were always on about being an Auror, though.”

“Yeah. I guess. After fighting a war, chasing so-called bad guys didn’t seem that appealing all of a sudden.” Harry tears his eyes away from Malfoy’s to stare at the concrete below him, feeling more sober than he’d like for this conversation. He traces a shape in the dust with his finger, remembering his decision not to return to Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione had been so excited to rebuild their lives, start careers that weren’t dedicated to chasing Voldemort for a change, but Harry never shared their enthusiasm. On the last day they could sign up for their NEWTS, he had gone to McGonagall and withdrawn his application. A screaming match with Ron and Hermione had ensued, but they’d understood Harry’s decision with relatively little explaining. Their world had just shattered – it wasn’t going to be that easy to pick up the pieces.

Malfoy seems to get it immediately. “I only did my NEWTS because I didn’t know what else to do,” he confesses. “School is all I’ve ever known. I don’t know who I am without it. After everything had fallen apart, it was just the logical thing to do.”

“So what are you gonna do now?” asks Harry.

Malfoy clears his throat, examines his hands. “Haven’t the foggiest.”

He looks so uncomfortable admitting this that Harry bursts out laughing. A smile curves Malfoy’s lips at this response.

“Well, that makes two of us. Come on, let’s go back in. Everyone’s probably gone now, finally.” Harry climbs to his feet and reaches out a hand to help Malfoy up, and they head back downstairs to the flat.

He swings open the door to find that the only people left are Ron and Hermione, who are in the process of vanishing empty bottles of alcohol and cleaning the kitchen. They look up as he and Malfoy enter.

“Thanks for cleaning everything,” Harry says to them, feeling a bit guilty that his friends had done all the work. “You really didn’t have to, you know."

Ron shrugs. “No worries, mate. Consider it our housewarming gift to you.” He disappears the last beer bottle and makes his way to the door, Hermione following close behind. “You’re coming to Mum and Dad’s tomorrow, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” replies Harry. Grimacing, he adds, “Thank you both so much for coming, again. Sorry I was missing for most of it. D’you think people minded?”

Hermione responds carefully. “I think people understand that you’re having a hard time right now, and that having fun at a party isn’t always easy. But we did miss you after you left, Harry, no matter what you might think. This was your party after all.”

Harry blushes. He’s a little embarrassed about missing the second half of his housewarming, but when he thinks about the kindness of his friends, he knows Hermione’s right, of course.

Malfoy, standing in the doorway, clears his throat; Harry had forgotten that he was still there. “I’ll leave you to it,” he says, nodding to the trio. “Have a good night.” Harry watches as he shuts the door gently behind him. After he leaves, Hermione lets out a little laugh.

“What were you and Malfoy up to this whole time?” she asks innocently.

Harry groans. “It was nothing like that! We were just on the roof talking. Also, getting high.”

“Whatever you say, mate,” Ron says sagely. “Honestly, that explains why he’s been so tolerable these days.”

“He has been, hasn’t he?” Hermione agrees. “So are you guys friends now?”

“I dunno,” Harry says. “Maybe.”

Ron nods. “Right, well, we’re off then. Cheers, Harry.” They exchange hugs and Harry is left to the silence of his new flat. It’s not quite the same as Grimmauld Place’s dusty atmosphere, and he doesn’t have to deal with the burden of an enormous empty house anymore, but the loneliness is still there. Now it’s accompanied with a new feeling of guilt for not being a better friend. He really shouldn’t have ditched everyone, especially after they put so much work into welcoming him into his new home. His friends were only trying to help – if he hadn’t wanted a party, he probably should have told them. Harry is struck with the overwhelming urge to firecall Ginny and ask her if she hates him. He can imagine how the conversation would go:

“Ginny, am I a terrible friend?” he’d ask.

Eyeroll. “Harry, don’t be stupid. Of course not.”

“Is it weird for you that we’re best friends even though we dated?”

“Stop overthinking, we’re fine, we barely even dated and anyway we were so young, it’s literally never come up once, you know I love you but not in that way.”

He knows he’s being ridiculous. Ginny’s one of his best friends and they spend loads of time together, plus she makes it very clear when she dislikes someone. They tell each other literally everything. He shakes his head, heading into the bathroom to take a cold shower. Maybe he shouldn’t smoke with Malfoy anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nose piercings, oscar wilde references, good friends

Harry wakes surprisingly clear-headed for the first time in a while. He’s excited to explore his new neighborhood, and sure he’s spent lots of time in this area with Ron and Hermione, but walking down the streets will be different now that he lives here.

Seeing as there’s no food in his house, Harry decides to stop at a coffee shop for breakfast. He’d spotted a little independent coffee shop down the street when he was moving in, he thinks it’s attached to a bookstore too, so that’s where he heads.

A bell tinkles as he enters the café, and he’s immediately greeted with the comforting smell of coffee and old books. Harry smiles at the curly-haired witch who’s working at the register. “A small coffee, please,” he says, counting out the knuts and sickles. “Oh, and a Danish pastry too, thanks.”

Breakfast in hand, he turns to look for a table. Out of the corner of his eye Harry spots a head of blond hair sitting in a window seat at the end of the café.

“Malfoy?” he asks, heading over. Malfoy’s head whips up, startled.

“Potter, what a surprise,” he replies, setting down the book he’d been reading. “Didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

“Well, I do live here now,” Harry answers.

Malfoy scoffs. “Here? In this shop?”

Taking a sip of his coffee, Harry rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.” He pulls a chair up to the table and takes a seat, munching thoughtfully on his pastry. Noticing something different about Malfoy, he frowns. “Hey, what’d you do to your face?”

“Oh, this?” Malfoy gestures to the septum piercing that has somehow appeared in his nose overnight. “Your little party ended a bit early and so after I left I thought to myself, what else could I do that will disappoint my father more than smoking pot with Harry Potter?”

Harry winces at the reminder of the previous night. “Isn’t your father…” he hesitates. “Dead?”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Malfoy sneers. “I’m sure announcing to the world that I’m a raging queer would have him rolling over in his grave, but I wanted to add a little something just in case.”

Harry blinks several times to process this new information, as well as the new piece of metal in Malfoy’s face, which works unfairly well on him. It makes sense, Harry supposes, and also explains his recent confidence and impeccable style. Not that all gay people were fashionable, but Malfoy’s always been exceedingly posh. His bewilderment doesn’t escape Malfoy’s notice. Shaking his head, he drawls, “Really, Potter, you didn’t know that I’m gay? Thought I made it pretty obvious.” He meaningfully gestures at the book he’s currently reading.

Catching a glimpse of the title, Harry can see that it’s _The Picture of Dorian Gray_. Somehow, he finds the fact that Malfoy’s reading a Muggle book stranger than the fact that he’s queer. Harry shrugs. “I’ve been focusing on other things. Dorian Gray, really? Don’t you find that a bit on the nose, considering?”

“I hope you’re insinuating that I’m wealthy and beautiful,” sniffs Malfoy, “and not the other thing.”

Harry laughs. “Well, you tell me. Do you have a painting of yourself hidden somewhere in the Manor?”

“A painting!” he gasps. “Not a chance. Although, I will admit there is one of my grandfather hanging in the dining room.”

“Ah, so your grandfather was the family member full of sin and corruption,” Harry says wisely.

A smile curves Malfoy’s lips. “From what I’ve heard of him, that checks out. Big reader, are you? Bit surprising, I thought you couldn’t read.”

“He jokes now,” quips Harry. “For your information, I’ve always loved to read. Not Hermione-level dedication or anything, but I wasn’t allowed to do much else when I was at my aunt and uncle’s and I kind of fell back into it this year.”

Malfoy studies him closely. After a long pause he says, “You’re not at all what I expected, Potter.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he grins, standing up and stretching. “Let me know if you need any recommendations. I’m gonna check out the bookshop.” Harry pats Malfoy’s shoulder as he heads over to bus his coffee mug and plate before going into the adjoined bookstore.

Harry can spend hours in bookstores. He loves perusing the shelves, talking to the employees about their favorite picks, exploring genres he loves and ones he barely reads, and just the comfort of the quiet atmosphere filled with people who share the same interests as he. Today is no different, and Harry is so engrossed in the selection of used and antique books that he loses track of time and emerges from the shop almost two hours later and several galleons poorer.

To his great surprise, Malfoy is still reading in the same chair as before. His brow is furrowed and he’s chewing on his lip as he concentrates, but looks up when he sees Harry and his great stack of books.

“Someone hasn’t heard of self-control,” he murmurs, examining Harry’s recent purchases.

“Still here, Malfoy?” Harry asks. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Oh wait—”

Malfoy sneers and glances at the expensive silver watch on his wrist. “As a matter of fact, I do have somewhere to be in twenty minutes.”

“Really? Where?” he replies, curious.

“None of your business,” retorts Malfoy.

Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to these rapid mood swings, but tries to take it in good humor. “Just wondering,” he says lightly. “Seeing as I have absolutely nowhere to be.”

Standing up, Malfoy grabs his book and straightens out his shirt. “Therapy, Potter. You should try it sometime.” He whisks out of the cafe, leaving Harry to gape at the spot he just was. In some ways, Malfoy is nowhere near the boy he knew at Hogwarts, and in other ways they are exactly the same. Trying to reconcile the two in his head, Harry also makes his way out of the cafe, deciding to drop his books off at home before exploring the rest of the neighborhood. He hopes he doesn’t run into Pansy Parkinson next while he’s doing his grocery shopping.

\---

Some days Harry’s hit harder by the reminder of everything he’s lost than others. Today is one of those days, for whatever reason. He’d been fine all morning, but as the sun begins to sink behind thick clouds and dusk falls, he’s hit with such a longing and sadness that it physically hurts. There’s nothing Harry can do except put on a sad record and curl up in bed, the weight of three blankets over him despite the heat of the summer, and stare blankly at the ceiling. He’s not even sure if he’s thinking actual thoughts; there’s a cloud in his head that barely allows him to breathe let alone do anything else. Harry doesn’t know how long he lies flat on his back, listening to the same eleven songs over and over again. When a gentle knock sounds at his door and he’s able to rise, night has fallen and the moon is high in the sky.

“Harry?” Luna’s soft voice calls from outside. Sighing in relief, he slowly makes his way across the flat and opens the door. “I’ve brought curry,” she says, holding up a plastic bag. As the smell of Indian food wafts through the hallway, Harry is eternally grateful that he has such amazing people in his life.

“Come in,” he says, opening the door wider to invite her in. He hugs her tightly. “Thanks, Luna. Glad you came by.”

She smiles brightly at Harry and puts the bag of takeaway in his hands before going into the kitchen to rummage for a pair of forks.

“Top left drawer,” he calls, going straight to the sofa and pulling out the different cartons. Harry sets everything on the floor, deciding that eating at the table isn’t worth the effort. Luna rejoins him with two tall glasses of water as well and hands one over. They eat in silence for a while, just enjoying the meal. Harry’s not in the mood to talk and Luna is never one to force anything out of him, always happy to just sit in silence. Sort of like Malfoy, he thinks, and then promptly pushes the thought out of his head.

Luna takes a bite of paneer and chews thoughtfully, examining Harry. “I thought I’d check in with you today,” she says. “I always feel horrible after big social gatherings. Like I’ve done something wrong, somehow. I can’t stop overanalyzing all the interactions I’ve had with people.”

Harry scrubs his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I don’t understand, though. I was fine this morning but then I got home and just felt like everything I did was wrong. And I keep thinking about the war--” he stops.

“Me too,” replies Luna. “Do you get nightmares? I can’t sleep through a full night anymore.”

Nodding, he takes a gulp of water, realizing just how dehydrated he is. “I can’t either. It’s horrible.”

“Sometimes talking about it helps,” she says gently.

It’s easier talking about these things with Luna for some reason. “It does help,” he admits, a welcome change from his usual tendency to bottle up all his feelings. “I ran into Malfoy this morning, he said he was going to therapy. And that I should try it. He was being sarcastic of course, but it’s not a half-bad idea.”

“It’s not a bad idea at all,” responds Luna. “I go to therapy.” She crosses her legs and leans back against the sofa.

“Really?” He’s a bit startled by this confession; it seemed like after the war she’d adjusted back to regular life more easily than the rest of them. Although, now that he thinks about it, it was probably due to her therapy.

“Really,” she confirms. “Of course it doesn’t immediately fix all your problems, but it’s good to talk through everything. I think you’d be surprised by how many people are feeling the same way as you, Harry.”

He shrugs and stabs at the remains of his curry with a fork. “I dunno. Maybe.” Luna waits patiently as he struggles to articulate his thoughts. “I just think that everyone was able to grieve right after the war, like when we were going to everyone’s funerals, they properly got out their emotions.”

“And you didn’t?” she asks gently.

Harry shakes his head. “I didn’t feel _anything_ ,” he says angrily. “Not sad, not angry, nothing. I was just numb. I didn’t cry at Fred’s funeral, or Lupin and Tonks’s, or Colin’s, or anyone’s.”

Luna scoots closer to Harry and wraps her arms around him, leaning her head on his shoulder. “There’s no proper way to grieve. Just because you didn’t cry doesn’t mean you’re broken. And you’re allowed to take as much time as you need to process.”

Harry doesn’t reply, just lets her words sink in. He knows it will take a while to believe them, but she’s right. There is no correct way to process everything that’s happened in his life. Or, the way he’s doing it is the right way, at least for him. They sit on the floor like that for a while, intertwined, among several takeaway containers holding the last uneaten bits of their food. After a while Harry extracts himself and reaches for the television remote.

“Movie?” he asks.

“Ooh, yes,” agrees Luna. She helps him clear away the remnants of their meal and turns on Notting Hill, which neither of them have seen yet. “Julia Roberts is soo dreamy,” she comments as the opening credits play, tugging a blanket up to her chest.

Harry laughs and rises from the floor to grab a pint of ice cream from the freezer. “I’m rather partial to Hugh Grant myself.”

They squish together on the sofa to watch the movie but end up talking over it half the time. He doesn’t quite know how the conversation turns from Notting Hill to his party from last night, but around a mouthful of Chubby Hubby, she says, “I noticed Malfoy was at your party yesterday.”

“He’s friends with Blaise. I’ve been seeing a lot of him lately,” replies Harry, fishing out a pretzel chunk from the ice cream in the container.

“He’s really changed,” agrees Luna. “He apologized to me for what happened at the Manor during the war. It was very kind of him.”

This doesn’t surprise Harry all that much, given Malfoy’s own words to him at the pub. “Did you know he was gay?” he asks.

She reaches for the pint. “Of course, Harry. I thought it was rather obvious.”

“Obvious to everyone except me, apparently,” mutters Harry. “He got a nose piercing too.”

Luna hums her approval. “Oh, that would look very nice on him.”

Harry hadn’t given it much thought before, but he does suppose it had suited Malfoy quite well. Before he can reply, he gets distracted by the movie and doesn’t give Malfoy another thought for the rest of the night. The movie ends and Harry says goodbye to Luna, hugging her tightly and thanking her for coming. They make plans to get dinner again soon, inviting Ron, Hermione, and Ginny next time.

He spends a bit of time after she leaves puttering around his flat and cleaning the kitchen, not that there’s much to clean. His apartment is still extremely bare, but Harry’s excited to begin filling his shelves with the books he’d bought earlier. He decides to start one of them, _Slaughterhouse Five_ by Kurt Vonnegut. Muggle books have always been his comfort, and he’s glad there’s a bookshop around the corner stocked with classics. He curls up in bed and reads about fifty pages before his vision begins to go blurry and he falls asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy pride, queers! got a bit political in this one huh

Harry manages not to get himself in trouble until the weekend, which is when he and all of his friends are attending the London Pride march. He’s never been able to go before for several reasons, including the fact that he had spent his summers either trapped at the Dursley’s or on the run from Voldemort, and also had no idea he was bi until fairly recently.

It’s a whole ordeal. Seamus and Dean are hosting a party before the parade begins later in the afternoon, so Harry arrives at their little apartment around noon. He hadn’t been quite sure what to wear, and ended up pulling on his favorite jeans and calling Ron to ask to borrow a pink t-shirt (of which he had many, for no reason Harry could discern besides the fact that he liked them).

“Nice outfit,” Dean grins, slapping Harry on the back. Seamus and Dean are wearing matching rainbow shirts and look every bit like regular Muggles going to a pride parade.

“Er, thanks,” Harry replies. He thinks he did an adequate job of dressing himself. Seamus hands Harry a beer and ushers him into the kitchen, where Ginny and Luna are decked out in lots of beads and singing to ABBA at the top of their lungs.

“Join us, Harry!” Luna calls over the music, taking his hands in hers. Of course Harry has no choice but to dance with them. He knows all the lyrics to ‘Dancing Queen’, as it should be. Seamus and Dean crowd into the kitchen after him and all five of them jump up and down, screaming the words to one of their favorite songs. It’s exhilarating and Harry can’t stop smiling as he moves his body to the music, simultaneously afraid that the neighbors will call in a noise complaint and not caring less about what they think. Nothing could be more beautiful in this moment: it’s a perfect day and the sun is shining, the windows are open and a summer breeze is wafting through the apartment, and he’s so lucky to be part of a community full of so much love and resilience.

‘Dancing Queen’ ends and ‘SOS’ immediately starts playing, and of course the dancing has to continue. Harry sings until his voice grows hoarse and he’s out of breath, when Dean lowers the music and they take the party to the living room. The living room is decked out with rainbow flags and two protest signs lean against the wall in the corner, which Harry is glad to see. He sinks onto the couch between Ginny and Seamus and starts on his second drink. Ginny’s brought a pitcher of margaritas, and they spend the early afternoon day-drinking and enjoying each other’s company, listening to old music and making stupid jokes.

“Didn’t want to bring your man today?” Seamus jokes as he fixes a pink triangle pin to his shirt.

Ginny makes a face. “I asked if he wanted to come but he’s visiting his mum this weekend. He was so uncomfortable when I brought it up, though.” She giggles. “He was like, ‘am I allowed to come if I’m straight?’ and I was like, ‘well, I’m queer and I say you can come, so yes’ and he just got very flustered. He’s cute.”

“And that’s the truth,” Luna agrees. “Not about him being cute, though he is. About how you being in a relationship with a guy doesn’t make you straight.”

Dean snaps his fingers in support. “Fucked how the wizarding community thinks we’re past all of the homophobia and biphobia but we’re really just as bad as the Muggles,” he says. “Honestly, the Muggles are probably making more progress with LGBT rights than we are.”

“Right? Like we’re so stuck in the past with all the pureblood vs. Muggle-born shit, we haven’t even thought about other injustices going on. I think we’re making progress, though,” Seamus replies. “Things have really changed for the better in the past year. I thought the Slytherins were gonna get it real bad after the war, but I haven’t heard of people treating them any worse.”

“Oh, speaking of the Slytherins,” says Ginny as she sips her margarita, “we’ll probably run into Malfoy and Pansy and Pansy’s girlfriend at the parade. They said they’d try to find us.”

“Pansy’s girlfriend?” Seamus asks gleefully. “That’s news to me.”

“Astoria Greengrass,” Ginny confirms. “I’ve only met her once but she’s gorgeous and intimidating as hell. I think they’ve been together for a while.”

Dean nods and turns to Harry, who’s been happily observing the conversation. “When are Ron and Hermione getting here?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. Soon, I hope.”

As if Dean’s conjured them into existence, Ron steps out of the Floo, Hermione following close behind. He whistles when he sees their decorations. “Very festive,” Ron says, nodding approvingly. “Hope we’re not too late.”

“Well Ronald, you did miss all the dancing,” Ginny tells him. “But don’t worry, there’ll be more.”

“What a relief,” he sighs. “I don’t think I could have lived if there was no dancing for the rest of the day.”

Harry laughs. “Well, in that case there might not be.” Hermione fist bumps him and accepts a margarita from Seamus.

Five minutes later the music is once again blasting on full volume, but this time it’s the Backstreet Boys. Hermione knows every single word to ‘All I Have to Give’, and when the song finishes everyone gives her a round of applause.

“I have to confess something,” she says as ‘I Want it That Way’ comes on. “I have a huge crush on Kevin Richardson and would 100% break up with Ron for him.”

Ron gasps. “Hermione!”

“You don’t want me to follow my dreams, Ron?” she says. “Even you have to admit you can’t compete with his eyebrows.”

“Hear, hear!” Dean says, raising his glass. “A toast to Kevin Richardson and his glorious eyebrows!”

They toast, and Harry throws back the rest of his drink, expecting that they’ll be leaving soon for the march. He’s correct, and everyone scurries around the apartment, gathering up their things for the march. Ever prepared, Hermione has several bottles of water and granola bars in her charmed backpack. Seamus and Dean grab their signs, one of which says “The first pride was a riot” and the other reads “Love is a human right”. Luna comes up to Harry and sticks a pride flag into his pocket and fastens a rainbow pin to his shirt.

“Better,” she says, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “Are you ready?”

He nods. He feels a little anxious, sure, but mostly he’s excited to celebrate with his friends. Luna hugs him tightly, and then they step out the door. Seamus and Dean don’t live too far from downtown London, so there’s no need to take the Tube to get to the march. As they near Hyde Park, Harry sees countless other people coming from all directions on their way to Pride. His heart swells with the knowledge that there are so many other people like him out there. He’s thrilled to finally celebrate his sexuality with his community, to be out to the world. Nothing can compare to the feeling of liberation he feels as he sees the huge crowd, full of people covered in glitter and rainbows and carrying signs.

“This is amazing,” he whispers to Ginny, who’s walking next to him. She squeezes his hand. The march isn’t starting for another half hour, so they decide to seek out Malfoy, Pansy, and Astoria.

“Do you have any idea where they’ll be?” Hermione asks. “There’s so many people here, it’ll be impossible to find them.”

Ginny shrugs. “I have no clue. Somewhere in the park.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Very helpful, Gin, thank you.”

After a bit of wandering around, Luna spots Malfoy and Astoria sitting on a blanket under a tree. They look up as Harry and his friends approach, scooting over on the blanket to make room.

“Hello!” Ginny greets them brightly. “Happy Pride! Where’s Pansy?”

Astoria smiles. She’s beautiful, Harry will admit, but also terrifying even in a tank top and jeans. With her blonde hair pulled back into a sleek bun, she’s the epitome of wealth and class. “Went to get some water,” she replies. “Come sit! Good to see you all.”

Harry opts to sit on the grass, not wanting to take up unneeded space. He nods at Malfoy, who’s wearing a tight black t-shirt tucked into a pair of elegant olive-green slacks. He’s got on his rings as well, along with slim black boots that look extremely expensive and circular sunglasses with lenses so dark Harry can’t see his eyes.

Even Seamus is impressed with his outfit, and whistles as he sits down. “Bloody hell, Malfoy!” he exclaims. “Guess you didn’t spend all that time in the closet for nothing.”

Malfoy smirks. “Thank you, Finnigan, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Hermione sits down next to him and they begin discussing something Potions-related. Harry tries to keep up with their conversation for a few minutes but finding it impossible to follow, he tunes them out and begins talking with Luna and Astoria instead about psychics. Pansy has returned with three bottles of water, one of which she hands to Astoria before shrinking the other two and shoving them at Malfoy to put in his pocket. She pulls Astoria into her lap and they share a brief kiss before continuing the conversation.

“I just think what they have to say is too general and can be applied to anyone,” Astoria says. “They don’t have real magic, they’re just Muggles pretending.”

Harry considers this. “But if Divination is the magical equivalent of say, tarot card reading, does that mean it holds more credibility? Because in the magical world it seems to be treated pretty much the same.”

Astoria nods. “I don’t think either of them are based in magical theory.”

Wrinkling her nose, Luna says, “If Divination is taught at Hogwarts, that means it’s a proper magical field. And the Muggles who say they’re psychics are just channeling that same energy in the way they know how. Like, astrology for example. Firenze taught us about the sky, how’s that any different?”

“Fascinating as this conversation is,” Pansy interrupts, “I think the march is starting. Oi, Draco!” He looks up. “Time to go!” They all climb to their feet, sweating already in the summer heat, and join the crowd of people heading towards Piccadilly.

Swept up in the throng, Harry ends up falling behind the rest of his friends and walking next to Malfoy.

“Are you going to the evening festival after this?” he asks.

Harry shrugs. “Didn’t know there was one.”

“It’s in Finsbury Park,” replies Malfoy. “Fucked that they’re charging ten pounds for people to attend. I don’t even know what a pound is.”

“Muggle money,” Harry explains.

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Well I know _that_ ,” he says. “But why is it called a pound? And why is their money _paper_? I have so many questions.”

Harry laughs. “Paper’s easier to carry than literal gold coins,” he points out. “But I agree. Seamus and Dean were talking earlier about how Pride has been turned into a carnival rather than the political march it used to be.”

“I have two things to say to that,” Malfoy answers. “Firstly, I’m glad political marches aren’t a necessity and that it’s easier for people to be openly queer. But people forget we owe our rights to the black, trans women that started the Stonewall riots and heralded change. Look at these police officers here to protect us! Cops were the ones who raided queer spaces in the 1960s and beat us and threw us in jail.

Secondly, Pride has become increasingly capitalist, where we cheer for huge corporations that don’t give a shit about our rights. Why do you need that rainbow pin to show that you’re queer? You don’t. And to make matters worse, the rainbow flag was created by Gilbert Baker, who was in the U.S. Army.” Malfoy angrily gestures around him. “Pride isn’t a fucking party. We’re still fighting for the right to _get married_.”

Harry’s forgotten that same-sex marriage is still illegal in 1999. “LGBT people also experience extremely high rates of homelessness, so corporatizing Pride is just making it inaccessible to actual members of the community,” he adds.

“Exactly,” says Malfoy vehemently. “Fuck the neoliberal agenda. You can’t fight against injustice without also fighting against capitalism.”

“You’d think the Wizarding World would be advanced enough to have a more just economic system, but I guess not. And what about the AIDS epidemic?” asks Harry, feeling it’s necessary to bring up. “14 million people have died so far, and Reagan didn’t even _acknowledge_ the epidemic until 1985 because it primarily affects LGBT people and African-Americans. Clinton isn’t much better, as he hasn’t enacted legislation addressing the fact that almost 50% of HIV cases are people of color.”

Malfoy nods and pats him on the arm. “Quite right. Glad we are on the same page about this, Potter,” he says softly. His sunglasses have slipped to the end of his nose and his grey eyes, visible over the rim of his glasses, burn into Harry. “It’s important to know your history.”

Harry smiles at him before turning away to cheer with the rest of the crowd. Luna drops back to talk to them until the procession ends at Trafalgar Square.

“This was fun,” Dean says as they gather together after the march is over. “Bar?”

“Yes,” Seamus agrees, taking his hand. “Bar.”

The group meanders down the street to the nearest gay bar where they can drink and dance and celebrate. A whoosh of cold air greets Harry as he walks through the door, most welcome after spending hours in the sun. The bar is packed with people who’ve just come from Pride. Harry is quick to join the drinking and dancing; he and his friends throw themselves onto the dance floor and jump up and down to the music. He finds himself dancing with Ron and Pansy, quite the odd pairing indeed, but their energy is infectious and Harry can’t help but smile and smile and smile.

Harry excuses himself for a quick bathroom break and to grab some water, and when he emerges it’s impossible to push his way through the crowd back to his friends. Giving up, he ends up dancing with a group of random strangers who welcome him into their little circle.

“Is that real?” one of the guys asks, pointing to his scar.

Harry grimaces. “Yup. Got it in a...car crash,” he lies, remembering what Petunia had told him about its origins years and years ago. The guy seems to believe him easily enough, and they dance together for a while, until Harry finds that he’s suddenly kissing this stranger. It’s fun, he decides, relaxing into the kiss, and anyways this guy is really good at it. After several minutes of intense making out Harry eventually pulls away, smiling sheepishly.

“I don’t even know your name,” he says.

“Adam,” the stranger replies. He’s rather cute, tall with dusty brown hair and lots of freckles splashed across his nose and cheeks.

“Harry.” He sticks out his hand and Adam shakes it firmly. It’s a bit ridiculous they’re shaking hands after Adam’s tongue was down Harry’s throat seconds ago, but that’s life. “I’d better get back to my friends,” Harry sighs. They’ve been at this bar for at least an hour and he’s sure Dean and Seamus will have picked out at least two other places to go to.

Adam nods. “Hope to see you around, Harry with the cool scar,” he says, pulling him in for one last kiss before releasing him. Blushing, Harry looks around for his friends. He catches a glimpse of Ron and Hermione at the bar, and manages to make his way over.

“Who was that?” teases Hermione, raising an eyebrow. “He was cute.”

Harry shrugs. “Dunno. His name’s Adam, just some random Muggle I guess. Are we leaving soon?”

“Like five minutes,” replies Ron. “Just waiting for Luna and Ginny to get back from the bathroom.”

The rest of the group congregates around them, first Pansy and Astoria and then Malfoy appears, his blond hair sticking to his forehead and t-shirt clinging to his chest from sweat. He wipes his face with the back of his hand.

“Oi! Over here!” Seamus calls from by the door, interrupting Harry’s train of thought. He’s standing beside Luna, Ginny, and Dean. Harry is correct in that he has more plans for the group and soon they find themselves at another bar, and when that one gets boring they are off to another.

“I’m tired,” Ginny complains, propping her feet up on a chair. She, Ron, Hermione, and Harry are sitting at a booth in the back of the club, sipping on water after many hours of drinking nothing but alcohol. “How do they _still_ have energy? It’s like nine o’clock. Can we get food?”

“Yes,” Ron agrees. “I want a milkshake. Please Hermione, can we get milkshakes?”

A lightbulb goes off in Harry’s head. “No, I want waffles. Hermione, can we get waffles?”

She rolls her eyes. “Why am I the decider of these things? Yes, we can get milkshakes and waffles. Go tell the others that we’re leaving.”

Ron leaps to his feet and goes to find Dean and Seamus. Harry thinks Ginny says something, but all he can think about is waffles with cream and strawberries, the perfect meal for his inebriated state. The next few moments are a blur as they finally leave the club and walk down the street in search of a diner that’s still open. Harry’s vision is a bit fuzzy and he thinks he’s telling Pansy how much he loves everyone, but recognizes that he’s not making much sense and she probably thinks he’s an idiot.

They make it to a grungy diner where they have to split into two separate tables because there’s too many of them to fit at one. Harry sits between Ron and Malfoy, across from Hermione and Luna. The waitress hands them a couple menus and places five glasses of water on the table.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, leaving them to decide on their orders. Harry stares at his menu for a few seconds before realizing that all the words are swimming around the page and he can’t read anything.

“I can’t read the menu right now,” he complains.

Malfoy laughs softly in his ear. “Potter, you’re useless,” he says. “Didn’t you want waffles?”

“Oh, yes,” remembers Harry. “Do they have hash browns too?”

He leans over to examine the menu in Harry’s hands, and Harry can feel his body heat through his thin cotton shirt. Malfoy must be equally as drunk as he is because he squints at the menu for far too long before answering. “Yes, they have hash browns,” he replies.

“Hash browns!” Ron bellows, overhearing their conversation. Everyone sitting nearby looks over at them, startled by this outburst. Despite himself Harry bursts out laughing, and soon everyone at the table joins in. Hermione laughs so hard she snorts and tears are running out of her eyes. What a state they are all in, thinks Harry.

He doesn’t remember ordering but he must have because what seems like only seconds later, the waitress places a glorious waffle in front of him. Harry digs in, and it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever eaten. Next to him, Ron is slurping happily on his chocolate milkshake. Even Malfoy has indulged himself and is eating a huge stack of pancakes drenched in maple syrup.

“This is amazing,” says Hermione with her mouth full. “I didn’t even realize how hungry I was.”

“So good,” Luna agrees. The conversation pauses as they concentrate on their food. Suddenly Ron looks up, an expression of alarm on his face.

“Harry,” he exclaims, gripping Harry’s arm tightly. His chest clenches in fear. “We forgot the hash browns.”

“Bloody hell, Ron, I almost had a heart attack,” Harry answers, letting out a sigh of relief. “I think I can live without the hash browns.”

Ron nods, satisfied by this answer, and returns to his milkshake. The other table finishes their meal before Harry’s table does, and after they’ve paid the bill, Ginny, Dean, Seamus, Pansy, and Astoria all squeeze into their booth despite the fact that there is no room for them. Ron squishes Harry against Malfoy, who’s pinned to the corner of the bench.

“Let me out, Potter is suffocating me,” Malfoy whines, but no one except Harry hears him over the loud conversation and he’s forced to drop the matter. After several very uncomfortable minutes of Malfoy’s bony elbows digging into Harry’s side, they finish up, pay the check, and exit the diner.

“Where to now?” Ginny asks. “My place isn’t too far, we could easily walk there and watch a movie or something.”

No one has any better ideas and so they meander to Ginny’s flat. Harry’s allowed to lead the group, even though he doesn’t really know where he’s going, and so he walks a couple feet in front of everyone, drunkenly enjoying the summer night. His head is no longer spinning and he’s now able to appreciate the beauty of London at night as he half-listens to his friends talk about something absolutely ridiculous. A wave of nostalgia hits him; he’s been through a war and came back from the dead and here he is, celebrating Pride with people he would never expect to be friends with. Nothing could be better than this moment.

They reach Ginny’s flat and she unlocks the door and lets them in. Ron dives for the sofa and so Harry is relegated to the floor, where Ginny throws him a couple blankets. Malfoy joins him on the ground and Harry spreads the blanket over his legs as well, leaning his head back against the couch as Ginny turns on Pride (2014) dir. Matthew Warchus. It’s a fantastic film, but Harry’s exhausted and finds himself nodding off in the middle of it. He thinks he might be leaning on Malfoy’s shoulder, but he’s drifting off into sleep and can’t be sure of anything at the moment.

Harry wakes early the next morning feeling like someone hit him in the head with a bludger. His mouth is dry and tastes like something crawled into it overnight and died there. All of his muscles ache from sleeping on the hard floor.

He groans and extracts himself from the blanket that he’s somehow sharing with Malfoy, who is fast asleep next to him. Harry glances around. Ron and Hermione are passed out on the sofa, Dean’s sleeping in the armchair with his neck tilted at an unnatural angle, and Seamus is lying on the carpet with a sweatshirt balled up under his head as a pillow. Harry can only guess that Ginny and Luna have managed to make it to the bedroom.

Heading into the kitchen, Harry opens the cupboard where he knows Ginny keeps her hangover potion. He unscrews the cap and braces himself for the horrible feeling it brings, but after swallowing a disgusting mouthful he feels much better. His stomach growls loudly, and Harry decides to cook some breakfast. Thankfully Ginny keeps her fridge well stocked, so after putting on the kettle for tea, Harry whips up some scrambled eggs and a potato hash, which he knows Ron will be thrilled about after the hash browns were missing last night. Shortly, Ginny joins him in the kitchen in search of the hangover potion. He passes it to her wordlessly and spoons some breakfast onto a plate. They sit at her round table and silently eat their food. Gradually the others begin to get up and join them for breakfast, first Hermione and then Luna.

“I’m gonna go home,” Harry tells Ginny as he finishes up and puts his plate into the sink. “I need a nap.”

She laughs. “See you around, Harry. Thanks for breakfast.”

He nods and steps into the Floo, longing for a hot shower and his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! this chapter is absolutely so stupid but i hope u got something out of it anyway lol


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> poetry, smoking but on a balcony this time, boys are gonna get hurt from all the eye rolling they do

It’s a Thursday morning. Harry wakes at dawn, sleep disturbed by nightmares per usual. After tossing and turning for a while, unable to fall back asleep, he rises from his bed and putters around the kitchen, making coffee and deciding to take it up to the roof to watch the sunrise. It’s a beautiful morning, the day warming quickly as the sun peeks above the horizon and spreads brilliant yellows and oranges across the cloudless sky. He sips his coffee, ignoring the fact that it’s too hot as it scalds his throat on the way down, and then stomps back down to his flat and circles the main room no less than three times before deciding to go for a run to rid himself of his restless energy.

Harry pulls on a pair of shorts and sneakers, not bothering to change out of the t-shirt he wore to bed, and steps out the door. He breaks into a run once he’s on the street, enjoying the fresh morning air and the birds chirping in the trees. Though he doesn’t usually run he’s not unfit, and so over forty-five minutes later he ends back up at his house, out of breath and sweaty.

After a cold shower, Harry still feels bored. He wants to do something, go somewhere that’s not part of his usual routine. He has all this pent up energy that needs to go somewhere, and Arthur still has his motorcycle so a drive is out of the question, not that Harry knows how to ride a motorcycle anyway. Casting around for something to do, he’s suddenly struck with the urge to play Quidditch. Now that Ginny’s playing for the Harpies, Harry’s been thinking about Quidditch more than he used to, and anyway he misses his old hobbies from Hogwarts, when he would do things just for the fun of it. Harry has no idea what he enjoys anymore, and thinks Quidditch might be a good place to start. Problem is, there’s no one around for a quick game. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny are all at their respective jobs, and Harry doesn’t think either Luna or Neville will be up for it. He supposes he could give Seamus and Dean a call, but doesn’t feel like they’re the ideal Quidditch companions. And they’re not all that close.

Harry heads into the kitchen, deciding to make more coffee while he brainstorms other things he could do, but _goddamn_ now that he’s got this idea in his head he can’t get rid of it. He idly wonders what Malfoy’s up to, and then realizes -- he could just ask Malfoy.

Turning on the coffee pot, he opens the junk drawer in his kitchen and rummages around for a pen. After finding two that don’t work he finally finds one that does, barely, and scribbles a note to Malfoy on a paper towel.

_Malfoy,_  
_Fancy a game of Quidditch today? Noon?_  
_\- Harry_

He sends it off with his owl, Esmerelda. She’s a gorgeous, if not a bit temperamental barn owl that he’d received earlier that year from Andromeda Tonks and he’d felt like he couldn’t refuse her generous gift. Esmerelda hoots once before flying out of the window to deliver his letter. While he waits for a reply, Harry makes his bed, starts a load of laundry, and sweeps his entire flat. It’s habit really; Harry finds he’s incapable of doing anything unless his space is organized. When he doesn’t know what to do he just...cleans. What else is there to do?

Esmerelda returns an hour later with Malfoy’s reply.

 _Potter_ , it reads, _Seeing as I am rather unoccupied today, I will join you for Quidditch. Let me know where we will be meeting. Best regards, Draco Malfoy_

Harry stares at the note for a couple minutes. The letter is both formal and informal at the same time, but so typically Malfoy. When Harry asked him to play Quidditch he didn’t really think he’d agree. That, and the fact that seeing Malfoy’s full name written out like that is very strange. Harry blinks several times, reading over the signature again. _Best regards, Draco Malfoy_. Maybe they should start addressing each other by their first names, Harry thinks, seeing as they’re sort of becoming friends now. In any case, that’s a matter for another time. He dashes off a reply and then tries to keep himself busy for the next few hours before noon but finds it quite impossible to get any reading done in his anticipation.

Eventually the morning slips away and Harry changes into more appropriate flying gear, grabs his broom, and heads down to the park. Malfoy is already there, sitting on a bench and reading a book as he waits. He looks up and gives Harry a small smile as he approaches, closing his book and tucking it into his robes.

“Morning,” Harry greets him.

“It’s not,” replies Malfoy.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Malfoy, you could at least say hello.”

“Hello,” Malfoy says petulantly.

“What are you reading?”

Malfoy shows him the cover of his book -- _Dream Work_ by Mary Oliver.

“Didn’t know you were a poetry fan,” Harry comments. “She’s brilliant.”

“She is,” agrees Malfoy. He pauses. “I have to ask, why did you invite me for Quidditch? Didn’t have anyone else to play with?”

Wincing, Harry shrugs. “Er...kind of. It’s not like I _didn’t_ want to play Quidditch with you,” he says hastily. “But I mean yes, all my other friends are busy.”

Malfoy grunts. “Fair enough. Shall we?”

Harry nods and mounts his broom, kicking off into the air. He’s flown a bit since the war, just with his friends in the Weasley’s backyard, but everytime he flies he remembers how much he loves it. He does a few laps around the park, relishing in the wind in his hair, the thrilling speed of a broomstick. Malfoy flies high above him, doing lazy circles in the air.

“Want to race?” Harry calls.

Malfoy smirks, leaning forward and pulling up beside him. “You’re on, Potter.”

They haven’t determined where they’re even racing too but they take off. They’re equally matched and fly beside each other for a while until Harry begins to inch in front of Malfoy. Once he’s several lengths ahead he tucks into a dive, stopping just before he reaches the ground and tumbles off his stick into the grass, laughing breathlessly.

Malfoy soon joins him on the ground. “You’re crazy,” he declares.

“I won,” Harry answers gleefully, propping himself up on his elbows.

“You fell off your broom!” argues Malfoy.

“It was on purpose,” says Harry indignantly. “I meant to.”

In response to this, Malfoy rips up a handful of grass and chucks it at Harry’s face. It lands on Harry’s shirt and he brushes it away, still laughing. “Let’s go again,” he suggests. “I brought a Snitch, if you want.”

Malfoy ends up winning this round, distracting Harry by telling him that he saw some Dementors earlier in the park.

“You’re such a prat,” Harry says, looking over at him, and this is just enough to give Malfoy an edge and with a burst of speed he reaches forward and catches the Snitch.

“You’re horrible at this game,” he taunts after they reach the ground, waving the Snitch in front of Harry’s face. Harry makes a grab for it but the Snitch is just out of reach and he ends up knocking both of them over onto the grass. Harry feels a bit bad for assaulting Malfoy like this, but needs must. After a brief scuffle he emerges with the Snitch and holds it out so Malfoy can’t snatch it back.

“You’re such a dirty cheat,” complains Malfoy, pinching Harry’s arm, hard.

“Oi!” yelps Harry. “That hurt!”

“And you deserved it,” he says pointedly. “I won that fair and square.”

“You did _not_!” cries Harry. “Dementors? Really?”

Malfoy smirks. “It was kind of funny, though, you have to admit.”

“Not funny!” he protests, only half-joking. “That was a very traumatizing experience for me in third year, thank you very much.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about that,” says Malfoy, glancing at Harry. Harry’s a bit surprised at the shift in conversation, the sincerity in his tone. “I don’t think I’ve ever apologized. It was a really shitty thing to do.”

Harry shrugs. “Yeah. It’s okay. On the scale of shitty things we’ve done to each other, that’s like the least of it.”

Malfoy gulps. Harry can tell that he’s thinking about their fight in the bathroom -- he is too, remembering Malfoy’s ear splitting scream, pale face, blood on the tile of the bathroom floor -- oh god, he thinks he’s going to be sick.

“Potter,” Malfoy snaps. Harry’s attention comes back to the present moment and he takes a few deep breaths to calm himself, reaching for his bottle of water. Once he feels more steady, he meets Malfoy’s eyes. “It’s fine,” Malfoy says flatly. “I’ve forgiven you for everything a long time ago.”

Harry rubs his eyes. “I’m really sorry. I guess we’ve both been massively shitty people. I-- I wish I could take it all back, just so you know.”

“You did save my life too,” Malfoy replies softly. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten -- the last time we flew together was when you saved me from the Room of Requirement. That’s why I was a bit surprised that you asked me, of all people, to play Quidditch today.”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for a little while, just remembering. The Malfoy that Harry knows now is so completely different from the Malfoy he knew in school that he’s managed to separate the two into separate beings: one that Harry’s grown to enjoy quite a lot, and one who he literally sliced open because he hated him so much. It’s not unlike Harry’s own perception of himself. There’s pre-death Harry and post-death Harry, and he can’t imagine how they could ever be the same person. He doesn’t really recognize himself anymore, if he’s being honest. Who was that boy he once knew?

Malfoy stands up, interrupting Harry’s thoughts, and mounts his broom once more. Harry follows him and they fly leisurely around the park for a while longer, taking it easy and enjoying the summer day, until Harry’s stomach begins to grumble and he forces Malfoy to stop.

“Do you want to go get lunch?” he asks after taking a long drink from his water bottle.

Malfoy looks at him in confusion. “Lunch?” he says.

Harry stares at him. “You know, the meal between breakfast and dinner? Are you not hungry?”

“I mean, I was just going to go home after this.”

“Oh.” Harry’s a bit thrown off. He thought they were having a good time, despite the intense conversation they’ve just had in the middle of it, and anyway he doesn’t want to go home just yet. There’s nothing for him to do there; he’d probably just end up sitting in bed and wasting the rest of the day away doing nothing productive. “Well, I still haven’t seen your flat,” he points out.

Malfoy makes a face. “It’s not really in a state for visitors.”

“I don’t care,” says Harry. “And can we stop at a sandwich shop on the way? Seriously, I’m so hungry that I feel like I might pass out.”

“You’re so dramatic.” Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Also, I don’t think you understand. I really haven’t cleaned it in a while.”

“It can’t be that bad,” he responds, already beginning to head out of the park. Malfoy hurries to catch up with him. “Is it far from here? Pansy mentioned you didn’t live too far from that bookstore we both like.”

“Potter, we are _not_ going to my flat,” insists Malfoy. “We can get sandwiches, though.”

Harry cuts his eyes at him. “We’ll see about that.” They stop at a deli at the end of the block and order two massive club sandwiches that take forever to arrive. They eat them on the walk home, and Harry ends up dropping half of his fillings on the sidewalk.

“Were you not taught how to eat properly?” Malfoy scoffs as a chunk of tomato slips out of Harry’s sandwich.

“Shut up,” he says around a huge mouthful. Malfoy looks pained as Harry talks with his mouth full, and he can tell it takes him an enormous amount of effort not to comment on it. Harry tries to suppress a grin. “Are we almost there? I’m tired.”

“Almost where?” grouses Malfoy. “I told you, we aren't going to my place.”

“Come on.” Harry nudges him. “What else are you gonna be doing? It’ll be fun. You can read me some poems.” He gestures to the book he’s clutching.

“Fine! Fine, Potter. You’re a terror, truly. I don’t understand how someone can be as stubborn as you are.” Malfoy looks extremely displeased, but Harry’s thrilled.

“Great!” he enthuses. “Really, I’m sure you’re making it out to be much worse than it is. You, messy? I doubt it.”

Malfoy makes a face but says nothing.

Harry stands at the entrance to Malfoy’s flat, mouth agape. He was not making it out to be much worse than it is. Malfoy’s home is a terror. It goes against everything Harry’s ever known about him.

“Oh, god,” Malfoy groans, as if he’s just now seeing his flat through a stranger’s eyes. “It’s horrible. Let’s leave immediately, I can obliviate you and we can forget that you’ve seen I live in a pigsty.”

“Merlin, Malfoy,” Harry says in wonder. His flat is actually gorgeous, it’s at the top of an old Victorian building and half of the walls are red brick, extending meters above Harry’s head before meeting a pointed ceiling. There is a huge fireplace in the middle of the wall and above it the mantle is packed full of books. Not to mention the dark mahogany bookshelves that line the walls, going all the way up to the ceiling. But Harry will admit, it’s a mess. There’s a laundry bin on top of the kitchen table, clothes spilling out of it and onto the floor. The kitchen looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in a week, dirty dishes and mugs stacked precariously in the sink. Books and papers and dirty napkins are strewn across the glass coffee table, blankets piled up on the couch, shoes everywhere, half-empty teacups sit on the floor in front of the sofa, and what looks suspiciously like muddy footprints trailing towards a closed door that Harry can only assume is the bedroom.

“What did you do?” Harry asks.

Malfoy sneers. “What didn’t I do, you mean. Clean, mostly.”

“I just…” he shakes his head. “It’s not that bad.” Malfoy fixes him with an incredulous look. “Okay, it’s pretty bad,” Harry says, amending his previous statement. “I’d pegged you for a neat freak, though. Especially considering how you dress and all that.”

“I’ve been depressed, Potter,” he snaps. “We don’t all have the energy to clean all the time.”

The way Malfoy’s gone all defensive doesn’t escape Harry’s notice and he immediately feels guilty. “I’m not making fun of you, or anything,” he replies. “I get it, you know? Sorry if it seemed like I was poking fun.”

“Whatever,” grumbles Malfoy. He waves his wand, sending the clothes back into the basket and the dirty mugs into the sink, but it doesn’t do much. Harry wants to offer to help, but knows that Malfoy would just take offense at that and so he leaves it alone. He heads over to the sofa, stacking the books that lie on the floor onto the coffee table and folding up the blankets and laying them over the back of the couch before taking a seat.

Malfoy plops down beside him, sighing. “Fuck. You’ll never be able to look at me the same, Potter. Just when I thought I managed to convince you that I was the superior one.”

Despite himself, Harry laughs. “And yet I’m sure you’ll keep trying. So, Mary Oliver?”

Pulling out the book, Malfoy opens to the page he’s currently on, but then stops. “Do you fancy a smoke?” he asks lightly.

Harry considers this. He knows getting high with Malfoy _probably_ isn’t a good idea, but he doesn’t care right now. It’s three in the afternoon and he’s got nothing better to do than make a couple bad decisions — and really, he’s done much stupider things in his life. “Sure,” he agrees.

Malfoy disappears into his room and reappears with a joint and an ashtray.

“Balcony?” he asks. “Or in here? My neighbors don’t care,” he explains, seeing Harry’s expression.

“Balcony,” decides Harry. Malfoy’s flat is bad enough, it doesn’t need the smell of weed on top of all the mess.

They step outside and Harry watches Malfoy as he lights the joint, lips around the filter, brow furrowed as he flicks the lighter. After taking a hit he passes it to Harry, who inhales and immediately starts coughing.

“Smoke in my eye,” he says as he coughs violently.

Malfoy watches him. “Be right back.”

He returns shortly with a glass of water and trades it for the joint. Harry thanks him, feeling much better after a few sips. Eventually the joint burns down to the nub and Malfoy grinds it out and places it in the ashtray before holding the door open for Harry to head back inside.

“Poetry?” asks Malfoy, lying on the carpeted floor in front of the fireplace.

The book is lying on the sofa; Harry tosses it to him and joins him on the ground, lying on his back beside Malfoy, who opens the book and rolls over on his stomach so it’s easier to read.

“This one’s called ‘Wild Geese’,” says Malfoy, and begins the poem. His voice is soft and a bit rough and Harry is soon lost in the world that Mary Oliver spins.

“You do not have to be good.  
You do not have to walk on your knees  
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.  
You only have to let the soft animal of your body  
love what it loves.  
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.  
Meanwhile the world goes on.  
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain  
are moving across the landscapes,  
over the prairies and the deep trees,  
the mountains and the rivers.  
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clear blue air,  
are heading home again.  
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,  
the world offers itself to your imagination,  
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--  
over and over announcing your place  
in the family of things.”

Malfoy finishes the poem and reaches for Harry’s glass of water. Harry passes it to him silently, still absorbing Mary Oliver’s words. They sit for a minute, quietly reveling in her genius, before Malfoy turns over to lie on his back and look at the ceiling, just as Harry is doing.

“You could always become a poet,” he tells Harry a bit snidely. “Like how the Muggles did, sitting on street corners and reading their poetry to anyone who walks by.”

“I’m not sure that’s exactly how it worked,” replies Harry. “Also, don’t think I have the talent.”

“Come on,” Malfoy insists. “I can come up with one right now, ready? A haiku.” He clears his throat for dramatic effect and Harry rolls his eyes.

“I am sitting here  
Potter is sitting here too  
We are quite high.”

He waits for Harry’s opinion. “Well? What did you think?” he prods.

“It was horrible,” says Harry honestly. “Really, the worst thing I’ve ever heard. Also, the last line only has four syllables.”

Malfoy hits him. “Shut up, you know it’s amazing. And no, it definitely has five.”

He shakes his head. “Do you know how to count? It has four!”

Malfoy frowns, mouth moving as he counts the syllables in the last line of his haiku. “Okay, fine. What about ‘We are extremely high’?”

“No, that has six!” Harry laughs. “‘We are very high’?”

“That’s good,” he agrees. “You have to make one now.”

Harry protests. “Wait, wait, I can’t make one up off of the top of my head. Do you have a pen?” Malfoy stares at him. “A quill?”

“Oh, yes,” replies Malfoy. “Only, I don’t want to go get it right now. You’ll have to live without it.”

Harry groans. “Okay, let’s see. How about,  
There once was a great prat named Malfoy  
His flat was…Wait.” He stops, frowning. “Nothing rhymes with Malfoy, you know.”

“I know,” Malfoy says, sounding immensely pleased. “Nothing rhymes with Draco either. Now you can’t write a nasty poem about me.”

Harry lets out a great sigh. “That is so unfortunate. Let me try again.” He clears his throat, earning a nasty look. Laughing, he begins his limerick.

“Draco Malfoy has a very messy flat  
It must be because he is such a great prat  
He will never clean  
He is very mean  
And will end up an old ugly bat.”

“That is so rude!” Malfoy says, shoving Harry and beginning a limerick of his own.

“There once was a boy they called Scarhead  
In the night he would piss in his bed  
He really was dumb  
He looked like a thumb…”

Malfoy trails off. “I couldn’t think of a last line. Or I could, but it was too mean.”

Harry grins, delighted. “So that means I win,” he says. “Unless you want to finish and tell me that everyone wished I was dead, or something like that.”

“I think _I_ win,” argues Malfoy, “since I came up with two whole poems _and_ I was considerate of your feelings."

“Yes, how generous of you,” Harry replies. “You had no problem calling me a thumb.”

“ _You_ said I would become an old ugly bat!” Malfoy retorts. “As if. Malfoys age very gracefully, I’ll have you know.” At this, Harry bursts out laughing. “What is it?” he snaps.

“I’m just trying to imagine you as an eighty year old,” he wheezes. “Yelling at young children who step on your lawn, septum piercing and everything. I’d love to see it.”

He can see Malfoy trying not to smile, but it doesn’t work and the sides of his mouth curve upward against his will. “You’re a horror, Potter,” he says, sounding a bit fond. “Do you want to hear more poetry?”

“Not if it’s yours,” mutters Harry darkly. Malfoy reaches over to pinch his side, but Harry squirms out of the way before he can reach him. Picking up the book again, Malfoy starts on ‘Knife’, the next poem. Harry can’t stop his eyes from closing as he reads aloud in his soft voice, letting Mary Oliver’s words wash over him, the afternoon light casting everything in the room in brilliant orange, sun streaming through the open window, illuminating the small square he lies in, burning red beneath his eyelids.

Eventually Malfoy’s voice grows tired and he sets down _Dream Work_. Harry knows if he stays he’ll fall asleep right here on the carpet, and so with massive effort he hoists himself to his feet. Malfoy eyes him, not moving from the carpet.

“Leaving?” he asks.

Harry nods. “Probably should.”

Malfoy reaches out a hand and Harry helps him up. “This was surprisingly fun, Potter.”

“Yeah, it was,” he agrees. “Er, can I use your floo?”

“Floo powder’s on the mantle,” answers Malfoy.

“Thanks. See you,” calls Harry as he steps into the fireplace. The flames whoosh around him and Malfoy’s gorgeous, disaster of a flat disappears from view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> full credits to mary oliver for wild geese <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen, when i began this fic i did not intend to make this many references to classic literature. it just happened. thank u for reading! hope u enjoy!

Per usual, Harry arrives at the weekly Weasley dinner before everyone else, even though he tried really hard this time to be just a tiny bit late. But he steps out of the Floo into an empty Burrow, except for Molly in the kitchen as she always is, and Arthur fiddling with something in the back, as _he_ always is.

“Harry!” Arthur bellows from the backyard upon hearing him greet Molly.

“Goodness,” she says, peering through the back door to see what he could be up to. “You better go, Harry, I’ve never heard him yell like that.”

Harry laughs and kisses her on the cheek before heading outside. Arthur is standing beside a polished motorcycle and looking very proud indeed.

“All yours,” he says, gesturing to the bike.

Harry swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. “Merlin, Arthur. I--thank you. Wow.”

Arthur pats him on the back. “Not at all, dear boy. Will you be able to get it home alright?” he asks anxiously.

Harry walks over to his new motorcycle and runs his finger down the smooth handlebars. “We’ll figure something out,” he says, but he’s a bit distracted thinking about Sirius riding the bike when he was young, gleeful, wind tangling his long black hair. Arthur seems to understand his introspection and leaves Harry to it, heading back inside to help Molly with dinner. Harry allows himself to stare at his motorcycle for a couple more minutes, just missing Sirius and his father and Lupin, until he shakes himself free from the nostalgia and rejoins the party.

Dinner itself is uneventful. More people than usual show up, including Percy and his fiance, Penelope. Percy has mellowed out a bit over the last year but he’s always been slightly insufferable, so Harry and Ron assign themselves seats at the other end of the table.

After a delicious Molly Weasley meal, Ginny accosts Harry in the kitchen as he clears his plate.

“What are you doing after this?” she asks in a low voice.

Harry shrugs. “Er, sleeping, probably. Why?”

“I need your advice about something and I don’t want Ron to know yet because he’ll judge me,” she replies.

Harry laughs. “Okay, Ron is actually not that judgmental and you know it. But sure, wanna come to mine?”

Ginny nods. “Thanks.” She turns away to head back into the living room but, thinking of something else, addresses Harry again. “Also, how are you gonna get that bloody motorcycle home? Ride it?”

“Ugh.” Harry grimaces. “I forgot. And I don’t know how to ride one, so I might leave it here for a few days or something.”

“Just shrink it,” George says, overhearing their conversation as he walks into the room to grab a slice of the sourdough bread Angelia brought over. “It’s Muggle so it probably won’t harm the engine.”

Harry does just that, and parks the motorcycle in the alley out back when he gets home, admiring just how gorgeous it is, polished metal shining in the moonlight.

“Are you coming up or what?” Ginny calls out the window, her red hair whipping around her face in the wind. Rolling his eyes, he makes his way back up the stairs to his flat.

He enters the room to find her lying sprawled out on the floor, looking more distressed than he’s seen her in a while.

“What’s up?” he asks, standing over her.

She rubs her eyes. “I think I need to break up with Blaise.”

“Dear Merlin.” Harry sinks onto the sofa, not quite prepared to deal with this. “Okay, walk me through this. Why?”

Ginny removes her hands from her face and looks up at him from her place on the floor. “I just don’t think I’m cut out for monogamy, or something.”

“Well, that’s new,” he replies, blinking. “Is there anyone in particular, or…?”

She hoists herself up and swivels around to fix him with a piercing look. “This is your fault, Harry.”

“ _My_ fault?” he frowns. “Tea?”

“Oh, yes please,” she sighs. “As I was saying, it’s your fault. This started at your stupid housewarming party that you weren’t even there for, because you invited Luna and I hadn’t seen her since school. We used to be so close, I don’t know what happened, and we just were talking the whole time, and we’ve been seeing each other a lot since then.”

“And...what about it? Do you have feelings for her?” Harry asks.

“I dunno,” Ginny answers. “But I like...want to hang out with her all the time. Like even when I’m with Blaise I just want to be spending time with Luna instead. Does that make me a terrible person?”

“Of course not. You can’t control how you feel,” he says gently.

“That’s true. Are you making tea or not?”

Harry rolls his eyes and heads into the kitchen to put on the kettle. When he emerges, Ginny is laying upside-down on the sofa with her legs in the air and hair brushing the carpet.

“I like her _so_ much,” she complains. “I hate having crushes. It’s debilitating.”

“You’re crazy. Why don’t you just tell Blaise that you want an open relationship?” Harry reasons.

Ginny wrinkles her nose, thinking about this for a few minutes. Harry lets her contemplate in silence and stares into space, mind full of thoughts. “Okay, actually, I changed my mind,” she says. “I do want to be in a monogamous relationship, just not with him.”

He nods. “I’m not gonna lie, Gin, that’s big. I know you’ve only been together for a couple months, but still.”

She sighs. “I know. I just...what else am I supposed to do?”

“Yeah.”

The kettle whistles, and Harry pours two cups of tea, milk and honey for Ginny, milk and sugar for himself.

“Thanks,” she says, gratefully accepting the mug he hands her.

“Er, does Luna feel the same way?” Harry asks tentatively. “Like, does she know this is something you’re thinking about?”

Ginny blows on her tea before taking a sip. “Yeah. She doesn’t want me to break up with him for her. But I’m not -- I’m breaking up with him for me, you know?”

He nods. “It sounds like you’ve kind of decided what you’re going to do, then.”

“I mean. Yes. I just wanted you to tell me if I was being stupid and talk me out of it,” she replies. “But you haven’t done that, so.”

“I just want you to be happy,” he says. “So, no, I’m not gonna talk you out of it.”

Ginny shoves his shoulder affectionately. “Thanks. Dummy.”

“Takes one to know one,” grumbles Harry. “Do you want ice cream?”

“I haven’t broken up with him _yet_ ,” she says, laughing a bit. “Ben & Jerry’s?”

“Of course.” Harry retrieves a pint of ice cream from the freezer and two spoons and they spend the rest of the night talking about Blaise and then Luna and then nothing in particular.

  
\---

  
Five days later, Ginny and Luna are officially dating and Harry has learned to ride his motorcycle, collected an abundance of new bruises, and runs into Malfoy at the cafe-bookshop. Malfoy’s drinking iced coffee and reading _Pride and Prejudice_ , and when he sees this, Harry has no choice but to make fun of him.

“Big Austen fan?” he asks, plunking down his own coffee cup and taking the comfy armchair next to Malfoy’s.

Malfoy sneers. At this point, Harry thinks that sneering is just his automatic reaction whenever anyone says anything to him, because seconds later Malfoy looks much more pleasant and is responding to his question.

“For the record,” he’s saying, “this is the first book by her I’ve ever read.”

Harry grins. “You’re in for a treat. You have to watch the television series when you’re finished, it’s incredible.”

“How do you know so much about _Pride and Prejudice_?” Malfoy asks warily. “You’re not secretly some superfan, are you?”

“No!” exclaims Harry. “My aunt was obsessed with the books. When the TV drama came out she made us watch it like ten times. You know, the summer I was attacked by dementors and almost expelled. I’ve basically got the whole thing memorized.”

Malfoy snorts. “What a casual thing to drop in the middle of a sentence. But I guess I’ll have to watch it.”

“Make sure that you do. Oh hey, did you hear about Ginny and Blaise?” he asks, changing the subject.

“Did I hear about them,” scoffs Malfoy. “Blaise hasn’t shut up about it in my ear for the past four days.”

“Is he really that upset?”

“Nah. He’s not thrilled about it, obviously, but I think his pride is more wounded than anything. I don’t think he’s ever been dumped before,” Malfoy muses.

“Well, now he and I have another thing to bond over,” jokes Harry.

“Oh, good,” he responds. “I’ll just tell Blaise to firecall you with all his complaints then, shall I?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Don’t test me,” Malfoy warns, half-joking. “My patience with that man is growing very thin.” He eyes Harry, as if trying to determine whether or not to actually send Blaise to him. “Whatever happened to your arms?”

Harry looks down, noticing the deep purple mark by his elbow that still hasn’t faded from the first time he crashed his motorcycle. “Had a bit of an accident,” he says vaguely. “Hey, what are you up to this afternoon?”

And that is how Harry ends up riding his motorcycle across London with Malfoy clinging on tightly behind him as they zoom through yellow lights and turn sharp corners that give Harry such an adrenaline rush he thinks he might pass out.

“Good grief, Potter!” cries Malfoy as he merges sharply into the left lane, rudely cutting off the car behind him and receiving a nasty honk.

“What?” Harry innocently calls back. He’s feeling a bit unhinged, like something inside of him has come undone and the speed of the bike and the wind is working it looser and looser by the minute. He’d do anything right now, no matter how stupid and reckless; Malfoy’s arms wrapped around his chest are the only things keeping him grounded and steady.

“Drive a little slower, would you?” Malfoy yells. “I’d like to live for more than twenty years, thank you very much.” The traffic signal in front of them turns red and Harry screeches to a halt.

“I see now where you got all your bruises from,” Malfoy mutters into Harry’s ear. He just grins as the light changes to green and they’re off again, approaching Big Ben as they cross the Thames.

Harry wants to know what Malfoy really thinks about the trip, with the exception of the reckless driving, but it’s too loud to make conversation and so he instead just appreciates how much fun it is to explore the city on a motorcycle.

They’re almost at the Globe Theater when the first raindrop falls. The sky’s been overcast all day, but it’s London and so it’s usually grey — Harry hadn’t thought anything of it. He realizes just how bad his mistake was when the sky opens and rain begins pouring down.

“Fuck!” Harry says. His sentiments are echoed by Malfoy behind him.

“How far away are we from your flat?” yells Malfoy, barely audible above the thunder.

“Not too far!” Harry shouts back. “Hold on!”

They ride back through the city at a more reasonable pace, Harry a little more cautious of hydroplaning and skidding out given the river of water that seems to be cascading down the street. The rain beats down on his shoulders and every inch of him is completely soaked to the bone, but it’s a warm summer thunderstorm and the smell of wet pavement is oddly comforting.

At a red light, Harry looks back to check if Malfoy’s doing okay. Beneath his helmet, Harry can make out a wide smile on his face. A giddiness from riding in a downpour has hit Harry as well, and he can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of their situation. Malfoy hears him and starts laughing too, and Harry’s heart swells up a bit, at the sound, at the summer rain, at the fact that not twenty minutes later the clouds are breaking and the sun begins to shine.

“That was crazy,” declares Malfoy as Harry parks his motorcycle in front of his building. “You’re a fucking crazy driver.”

The rain has completely stopped but both of them are soaking wet. Harry pulls off his helmet and shakes his head, spraying Malfoy with water droplets.

“You’re acting like a dog,” he complains, shielding his face with his hand.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Get over it, you’re already wet.”

Once upstairs, Harry grabs a couple of towels from the linen closet and tosses one to Malfoy. “You can shower first,” he offers. “Do you need to borrow some clothes?”

Malfoy looks down at his shirt, clinging to his chest and dripping water on the hardwood floor. He sighs. “I guess I’d better. Thanks,” he adds.

Harry nods. “No problem. Er, I’ll go grab something for you to wear. The bathroom is just next to the kitchen.”

He returns with a soft t-shirt and a pair of old jeans that hopefully won’t offend Malfoy too much, and knocks softly on the bathroom door. The shower is on but Malfoy opens the door, wearing nothing but his trousers. Harry gulps as he catches a glimpse of the pale scars across his chest. He knows they already had this conversation, but still --

“Been thinking about getting some tattoos, what do you think?” asks Malfoy idly, examining himself in the mirror.

“What would you get?” replies Harry.

Malfoy shrugs. “I’m not sure. Something beautiful, I guess.”

Harry’s throat closes up. He manages to croak out a response before fleeing the bathroom, leaving Malfoy to shower in peace. The image of the crisscrossing scars, Dark Mark on his forearm, septum piercing, rings piled on the edge of the sink will probably be burned into the back of Harry’s mind for the rest of his days.

While he’s waiting for the shower, Harry opens a bottle of red wine. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, sipping his glass and staring off into space, when Malfoy finally emerges. Harry fails to suppress a snort at the sight of him wearing his old clothes. It’s not that they fit poorly, though Malfoy does have a couple inches on him, but Harry’s never seen him wearing something so casual before.

“Shut up, Potter,” Malfoy says before Harry can say anything. “Your clothes are absolutely ridiculous, I don’t want to hear it.”

“No, it looks fine!” he protests, but drops the subject. “Help yourself,” Harry adds, gesturing to the wine on the table. “I’ll be right back.”

His shower is considerably shorter than Malfoy’s was, and he spends the whole time thinking about what to cook for dinner. After rummaging around in the fridge, he decided to whip up a stir fry and proceeds to spend the rest of the evening chopping vegetables, making rice, and finishing the rest of the bottle of wine with Malfoy. He’s on his way to being sufficiently drunk by the time the stir fry is finished.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Malfoy says as Harry tips the contents of the pan into a bowl. Harry hands it to him, along with a serving spoon, and they sit at the table to enjoy the meal.

“This is quite good,” comments Malfoy after a few minutes of silently shoveling food into his mouth.

“Thanks,” Harry responds, pleased with the compliment. “Can’t really taste it fully tho. ‘M a bit drunk.”

“Me too,” admits Malfoy. “I wasn’t sure both the stir fry and I were going to survive the trip from the kitchen to the table.”

Harry laughs. “If you had dropped the bowl I never would have forgiven you.”

“ _That’s_ what you’d never forgive me for?” Malfoy shakes his head. “I must say, your priorities seem a bit warped, Potter.”

“I think they’re perfectly in line, thank you very much,” he mumbles around another mouthful.

The rest of their conversation gets a bit unintelligible from there, the alcohol doing most of the talking. But after the food is gone it seems to take a bit of a turn, as drunk confessions do as the night goes on, and Harry finds himself telling Malfoy about the Dursleys.

“I had no idea,” he says, shaking his head. “I thought your life was perfect.”

Harry lets out a bitter chuckle. “Yeah, right. Did I mention that time I accidentally released a snake from the zoo?”

“You’re lying.” Malfoy stares at him.

“No! I didn’t even mean to set it free, and then my aunt and uncle locked me in the cupboard for the rest of the summer. My God,” Harry remarks. “When I put it that way my life was pretty shit, huh.”

“No kidding. I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Harry fidgets. “Yeah, well. Not like your life has been so perfect either.”

Malfoy shakes his head. “No, I’m done making excuses. I had a privileged childhood and was raised by two parents who loved me and had basically everything I ever wanted and I _still_ made horrible fucking choices that hurt everyone around me. I wish I could go back and slap some sense into myself. I’ve spent this whole year trying to distance myself from who I used to be but it still doesn’t feel like enough. It feels wrong — I _need_ to acknowledge the awful things I’ve done to grow from them.”

Harry leans back in his chair. “Good on you, mate,” he says, for lack of anything better. Letting out a huge yawn, he scoots his chair back and stands up, stretching. “ Not gonna lie, I’m getting pretty tired.”

It’s almost midnight, they’ve spent over twelve hours together today. Malfoy stands as well, rubbing his eyes. “This was nice,” he says. “I’m never getting on your fucking motorcycle again, though.”

“We’ll see about that,” replies Harry.

“Is that a threat?” Malfoy cuts his eyes at him. “Anyway, I’m sure I’ll see you soon, I’ll give you back your clothes then. And watch out for a call from Blaise,” he says before stepping into the Floo.

“I won’t answer!” But Harry’s words are lost to the whoosh of the flames.


	8. Chapter 8

Something about drunkenly confessing things about Harry’s fucked-up childhood to Malfoy creates a sudden, inseparable bond between them. They’ve skipped over the tentative friendship they had been forging in favor of a new understanding where Harry can owl Malfoy about anything at any time of the day and Malfoy can force Harry to come over and clean his flat while he lies on his bed and watches from the other room. Harry knows how Malfoy likes his tea (two sugars, extra milky) and that he usually smokes before bed or when he gets anxious, which is frequently. They both are kept up by nightmares and on many a sleepless night Harry finds himself firecalling Malfoy at 2 AM to talk about nothing.

Sometimes Harry will go days without seeing Malfoy, usually after one of them confesses something too dark about their past. The silence is either from embarrassment and a dislike of feeling vulnerable, or bringing up past trauma will spiral one or both of them into a depressive episode. But Harry’s taken Luna’s advice and has started going to therapy, and it helps to talk to someone about all the shit he’s dealing with. To have an outlet, someone who’s a professional. And whenever they do meet up days later, nothing’s changed at all and Harry has no problem falling back into Malfoy’s easy company.

Their unlikely friendship consists of: Harry dragging Malfoy up a mountain in the dark so that they can watch the sunrise at five in the morning; Malfoy making Harry come with him to his tattoo appointment where he gets a sleeve of delicate flowers to accompany his Dark Mark; one extremely awkward dinner at the Burrow and then many pleasant ones following; lying next to each other on a blanket in the park reading Austen or Baldwin or Morrison as the sun slowly turns Harry’s skin golden brown; spending entire days in the Tate or the V&A or the National Gallery and then going back the next day because they didn’t get to see everything; getting drunk and being way too competitive while playing board games with Ron and Hermione or Pansy and Blaise or sometimes all four of them; attending random house parties where the booze is cheap and the music is too loud but having fun anyway; playing hide and seek in Ikea, Harry eventually giving up after he spends over half an hour trying find Malfoy, who’s hiding in the decorative pillows (Harry ends up leaving the store without him and a huge fight ensues); trying to teach Malfoy how to bake and failing miserably; spending long hours while all their friends are at work discussing what they’re going to do with their lives.

In the midst of all this is Harry’s nineteenth birthday. It comes and goes with little fanfare. He spends it at the Burrow with the Weasleys, plus Hermione of course, and Hagrid. When Harry was working on fixing up Hogwarts he’d see Hagrid almost every day, but it’s been a couple months since then and Harry’s missed him like a lung.

After lunch Molly brings out a huge chocolate cake and everyone makes Harry unwrap his presents and he cries a little bit when he gets home because they are all so lovely and so generous, and what did he do to deserve such amazing people in his life?

Malfoy comes over later to bring yet another birthday present.

“Have you been crying, Potter?” he asks, taking stock of Harry’s swollen eyes.

“Maybe,” mumbles Harry, turning away from him.

Malfoy looks like he wants to press the subject but keeps his lips closed, handing Harry a large box.

“You really didn’t have to get me anything,” he protests.

“Just open it,” Malfoy suggests, and so Harry takes a seat at the kitchen table and tears open the package. Nestled inside the box is a spray-bottle of tile cleaner, glass cleaner, and some sponges. Harry stares at the cleaning supplies in astonishment.

“For the next time you come over to my flat,” Malfoy clarifies. “It’s getting a bit dusty again.”

Harry chucks the packet of sponges at his head. “You utter arsehole,” he says. “Just when I was getting all weepy about how lovely everyone was being on my birthday! I hate you.”

“I feel like you’re not appreciating my gift enough,” Malfoy pouts. “I had to go to a Muggle shop to get these. I had to  _ ask _ someone who worked there.” He shudders at the memory.

“I hate you,” Harry says again. “Maybe now I’ll teach you how to clean by yourself.”

“No,” protests Malfoy, “You wouldn’t. I think I would die.”

“Even better.” Harry stands up to throw the wrapping paper away in the trash can. “I was going to offer you leftover cake, too, but I changed my mind.”

“What kind?” he asks, propping up his elbows on the table.

“Black forest. Molly made it, it was delicious,” says Harry savagely.

Malfoy eyes Harry closely. “And you brought it home? It’s in your fridge right now?”

Understanding exactly where this is going, Harry makes a dash for the refrigerator at the same time Malfoy does. Harry reaches the door first and grabs the handle so Malfoy can’t pry it open, but Malfoy’s a tricky bastard and pinches Harry in the side. Harry jumps, refusing to let go, but now Malfoy’s got a good grip on the handle as well and is trying to wrestle Harry away so he can grab the cake inside.

“Let me have it!” he cries as Harry jostles him with his hip. “You know it’s my favorite.”

“You should of that  _ before _ you brought me fucking cleaning supplies for my birthday!”

“You know it was funny,” argues Malfoy. “Don’t be a prat, I’ve got a real gift for you too.”

Harry looks up at this, momentarily forgetting about the fight. “Really.”

Malfoy nods. “You can have it as soon as you finish cleaning my place.” He pushes Harry aside and pulls open the refrigerator door, triumphantly grabbing Harry’s leftover birthday cake.

“Have I mentioned how much I hate you?” asks Harry, accepting defeat. “Because I do. A lot.” He opens the cupboard to grab two plates. Malfoy just grins and cuts two large slices of cake, looking overly pleased with himself. Cleaning-supply drama forgotten, they sit at the table to dig in.

“Did you hear that Percy’s getting married?”

“I did not hear that, but congratulations to him,” replies Malfoy with his mouth full.

“I don’t want to hear you ever complaining about my manners again,” says Harry. “Anyway, I get a plus-one to the wedding, do you want to come with me? Not as my date, or anything,” he adds hastily, “but I think it could be fun. It’s in Brighton.”

“Okay,” shrugs Malfoy. “When is it?”

“Er.” He swallows. “This weekend?”

“Merlin, way to spring this on me at the last second. Fine, yes, I’ll come! Now we’re even: you can clean my flat and I’ll be your extremely good-looking date to this wedding.”

Harry shoves him. “Fine.”

\---

They take a Portkey to Brighton on Friday evening. The wedding is on Saturday, but Harry feels obligated to attend the rehearsal dinner the night before. He and Malfoy arrive at the hotel they’re staying at around five. Most of the Weasleys are staying at the Clearwater’s house, but Ron and Hermione have the room next door and George and Angelina are a floor down. Ginny and Luna aren’t arriving until right before the wedding, due to some Quidditch thing that Ginny can’t get out of. Harry ducks into the bathroom to change while Malfoy sprawls himself out on the massive king-size bed.

“You’re not coming tonight, right?” Harry asks, leaning out of the bathroom and doing up his tie.

Malfoy shakes his head. “Are you sure it’s not weird? Me, being here?”

“Of course not,” he replies. “Firstly, I invited you, so if anyone has a problem they can take it up with me. Also, Molly loves you already and you’ve only been to like, three of her dinners. You’re fine, seriously.”

Malfoy gives him a dubious look but doesn’t respond.

“I’m heading out. See you later,” Harry calls as he leaves the room.

He meets Ron and Hermione in the lobby and they head to the Clearwater’s house, where both the rehearsal dinner and the wedding are taking place. Harry is mildly impressed with Percy for having a backyard wedding instead of a big production in an overpriced venue. Hermione seems to agree, commenting on how nice the Clearwater’s home is, with its periwinkle blue door and view of the ocean from the back windows.

Harry hugs Molly and Arthur hello, shakes hands with Percy, and is introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Clearwater, who are remarkably lovely people. He compliments them on their house and rejoins Ron and Hermione to stuff his face with hors d'oeuvres. Bill and Fleur are standing at the buffet table with their newborn daughter, and Harry greets them joyfully. 

“Where’s Malfoy?” Hermione asks, mouth full of quiche.

Harry shrugs. “At the hotel, I guess. I think he thought it would be weird to show up at the rehearsal dinner, given his past and all that. Honestly, I’m surprised he even agreed to come.”

“You guys have been hanging out a lot these days,” Ron comments.

“He’s really different than he used to be,” responds Harry. “Not that you guys don’t know that already, but, I dunno, we just get along really well. Especially because neither of us are working or anything.”

Hermione looks at him thoughtfully.

“What?” Harry asks.

“Nothing,” she muses. “Just thinking. I think you two are good for each other.”

“Hm,” he agrees, idly wondering what Malfoy’s getting up to in the hotel. Maybe exploring Brighton at night or getting high, but really it could be anything.

Charlie and his boyfriend, Simon, arrive at the house late. They both live in Romania, still chasing after dragons, and rarely make it to England. Molly gasps when she sees them and bustles across the room to sweep them into a huge hug. The room gets a little louder, a little brighter with their presence.

The rest of the evening passes uneventfully. Harry, Ron, and Hermione get a little more drunk than they probably should but it’s not like they’re going to pass up on the free alcohol, and Harry talks to some people he’s never heard of before who hold important positions in the Ministry. Some of them hint at their desire for Harry to come work for him but he evades all their slimy offers and then decides to stick to Ron and Hermione for the rest of the night.

Finally people start to leave and Harry, Ron, and Hermione dash down to the beach not even a hundred meters away. As soon as they reach it, Harry kicks off his shoes and sinks his toes into the sand, still warm from the heat of the day. They walk down to the ocean and wade into the surf. The waves crash over Harry’s feet and completely soak the bottom of his trousers but he couldn’t care less, swinging his sneakers in one hand as he and his best friends run along the shoreline, the breeze carrying their laughter down the beach.

They grow tired after an hour at the ocean and meander barefoot back to the hotel, only putting on their shoes when some Muggles out late shoot them dirty looks. They take the elevator up to their rooms on the fourth floor, and Ron and Hermione hug Harry goodnight with a promise to get breakfast the next morning before the wedding.

Harry swings open the door and it crashes loudly into the wall. He winces at the sound and Malfoy startles up from where he is lying in bed.

“Sorry!” Harry says a bit guiltily. “Did I wake you?”

Malfoy holds up the book he’s reading to indicate that he hadn’t been asleep. “How was it?”

“Fine,” replies Harry, untying his tie and tossing it onto the floor. “Kind of boring. What have you been doing?”

Malfoy gestures vaguely. “Took a walk. Got dinner. Wrote a letter to my mother, which was the most productive thing I’ve done in days.”

He rarely mentions Narcissa, so Harry’s a bit shocked by this. Malfoy visits her once a month or so, but refuses to talk about the trips when he gets back.

“How is she?” he asks.

“As well as she can be. It’s coming up to the anniversary of my father’s death, so.”

“Are you going to the Manor, then?”

“I’d rather be doing literally anything else, but yes. I owe it to her,” says Malfoy.

“Will you give Narcissa my best when you see her?” They’ve spoken a couple times about the Battle of Hogwarts and how she saved Harry’s life, but Harry hasn’t seen her since the trials a year ago.

“Of course,” replies Malfoy. He sounds a bit out of it. He’s definitely stoned, Harry thinks. “I think I’m going to bed now, if that’s alright.”

Harry moves from his awkward place in the doorway towards the bathroom. “Feel free to turn off the light,” he calls, “I’ll be right out.”

After brushing his teeth and changing into more comfortable clothes to sleep in, he enters a dark bedroom. Harry has to fumble his way to the bed and after tossing the throw pillows onto the floor, he lifts the covers and slides underneath the sheets. Malfoy, not quite asleep yet, scoots closer to the edge of the bed.

Harry had hoped that tonight would be one of the rare nights where he falls asleep quickly but has no such luck. Instead he stares at the ceiling and listens to Malfoy’s even breathing and thinks about all of the horrible things he’s ever said. Around two in the morning, Malfoy rolls back over. The bed is huge but he’s close enough that strands of his blond hair flop onto Harry’s pillow, his body heat radiating around them. Harry doesn’t realize he’s sighed from sleepless frustration until Malfoy cracks an eye open.

“Go to sleep,” he murmurs, words almost unintelligible. It’s easier said than done, but eventually Harry does.

They wake to a violent knocking on their door.

“Open up!” Hermione yells. “Breakfast!”

Harry rubs his eyes, momentarily forgetting where he is until he sees Malfoy curled up at the other side of the bed.

“Fucking hell,” Malfoy grumbles. “What time is it?”

Harry looks at the clock on the bedside. “Nine.”

Malfoy draws the covers up over his head. “Go away!” he shouts. The knocking stops but Harry feels obligated to say good morning, so he climbs out of bed and cracks open the door.

“Hello, ‘Mione,” he says, voice rough with sleep. She arches an eyebrow at his disheveled state. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“The hotel breakfast closes at nine thirty,” she says. “Are you coming?”

Harry yawns. “I’ll be down in five.”

“Bring something up for me!” Malfoy calls from his spot burrowed underneath the blankets. “And coffee.”

Harry scoops up the tie that he’d thrown onto the ground yesterday and chucks it in his direction. “Where are your manners? A please would be nice.”

Choosing not to comment, eyebrows still raised as high as they can go, Hermione nods to Harry and lets the door swing shut behind her. Harry showers quickly and throws on some real trousers. After a quick breakfast with Ron and Hermione, he returns to find Malfoy still in bed.

“What’s wrong with you?” asks Harry.

Malfoy pokes his head above the covers to glare at him. “Nothing.”

“Okay,” he replies wryly. “I brought you coffee but I’m going to leave it on this desk so you have to get out of bed to get it. I’m gonna go change.”

Harry emerges several minutes later from the bathroom to find Malfoy sipping his coffee from the bed.

“Honestly,” he says, “I don’t even know why I bother with you.”

Malfoy smirks. “Thanks for the coffee, Potter. You clean up well, I guess. Hair’s still a mess though.”

“Thank you for the generous compliment,” responds Harry. “I’ll be in Ron and Hermione’s room if you need anything.”

He knocks on their door and Hermione immediately answers. “You look nice, Harry,” she says, inviting him in. She wears a set of forest green dress robes and her curly hair is down, falling gently past her shoulders. They sit on the bed for a while, talking as they wait for Ron to get out of the shower.

“Harry!” he says, sticking his head out of the bathroom. “Do you have an extra pair of socks? Somehow I have forgotten to bring any.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Harry seems to have forgotten his key to his hotel room. Just to annoy Malfoy, he loudly bangs on the door until it’s answered. Malfoy is half-dressed, just doing up his belt as he opens the door.

He’s gotten a new tattoo. Malfoy’s bare chest is thin and muscular and it’s not like Harry’s never seen it before, but the words on his side definitely weren’t there last time. He doesn’t realize he’s staring until Malfoy irritably snaps, “What is it?”

Embarrassed, he tears his gaze away and clears his throat. “You got a new tattoo?”

Malfoy looks down. “Oh. Yes.”

It’s a quote, because of course it is. On Malfoy’s side, beginning about six inches below his armpit.  _ I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am_. 

Malfoy, looking a bit uncomfortable, shifts and pulls on a white dress shirt.

“Who’s handwriting is that?” asks Harry.

“My own,” he responds, doing up the buttons on his shirt. “I found my sixth year Charms textbook the other day when I was cleaning my flat. Don’t start,” he warns Harry at this mention of cleaning. “I don’t plan on making it a habit.” Harry rolls his eyes. “Anyway,” continues Malfoy, “I had written this quote in the back of it. I guess I’d just read  _The Bell Jar_. I don’t think this quote fully resonated with me back then, or it did, but it was like this unattainable goal at the time.” 

“But now?”

“Now it’s… a reminder. Of sixth year, but also everything since then. The war. My father. The fact that I’m still here.” Malfoy runs a hand through his hair, letting out an unsteady breath. His hair is almost as unruly as Harry’s, and Harry can’t help but notice the dark circles under his eyes. “Merlin. Okay. What time is it?”

“We have to go in half an hour.”

Malfoy nods determinedly and steps into the bathroom to fix his hair. Harry watches him from the other side of the room. He seems off today, not nearly as relaxed or confident as he usually is. When he emerges in a set of cobalt blue dress robes, not a hair out of place, he is the very picture of wealth and class but Harry can still sense the anxiety radiating from him.

“Hey,” Harry says, tugging on Malfoy’s arm. “You’re thinking too much.”

“I can’t help it,” he replies.

“Look at me,” says Harry. “Here’s what’s gonna happen: we’re going to go to Percy’s stupid wedding and gossip with Charlie and his boyfriend and we’ll sit next to Ron and Hermione and watch the ceremony and then eat some unsatisfying food and drink a lot of champagne and dance with all the Weasleys and then take our Portkey back to London. Plus I met everyone who will be there last night and it’s basically just a bunch of irrelevant Ministry people.”

He lets out a breath. “Okay. You’re right. Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Harry says. “I like your robes, by the way. You look very nice.” And he really does. He looks lovely, and he looks exactly like himself. Tall, expensive, intimidating if you didn’t know him, especially with his piercings and rings and tattoos. Malfoy offers Harry a small smile, Harry barely remembers Ron’s socks, and they’re off to the Clearwater’s with plenty of time to spare.

The wedding passes exactly as Harry had said it would. Molly is thrilled to see Draco and wraps him in her arms when they arrive at the Clearwater’s, claiming he’s too skinny and hasn’t been eating enough. Harry has to suppress a laugh at this, having endured years of the same. They find Charlie and Simon, the former of whom engages Malfoy in a lively conversation about Romanian wizarding history. Harry exchanges a look with Simon. He’s fantastic, originally from Ireland and more than happy to discuss Quidditch with Harry, which Ron joins in and emphatically adds his opinions about the Chudley Cannons.

Percy and Penelope’s wedding vows are traditional but sweet, Molly cries with joy, and everyone in the immediate family is hustled off afterwards for pictures. Hermione, Angelica, and Harry make fun of how awkward Ron is in all of them. Malfoy holds Bill and Fleur’s baby while they take a couple pictures, cooing softly at her. After he returns Audrey to her parents, he makes his way over to Harry.

“If I ever try to get married one day, you have to stop me,” he says.

“What’s the farthest I can go to stop you? Is murder on the table?”

“Yes,” says Malfoy. “Do whatever you have to do.”

“You have to admit, this is fun though,” Harry replies.

“Ugh.” He shakes his head. “All of these pureblood traditions are so archaic and pointless, and I can guarantee a Malfoy wedding would be ten times worse than this one. Besides, aren’t weddings a straight people thing?”

“No,” Harry disagrees. “I agree with what you said about all the stupid pureblood stuff, but I like weddings. I want to get married. ”

Malfoy shrugs. “Suit yourself, I guess. Is it time for the unsatisfying food?”

It is. Dinner is a casual affair, with people mulling about the lawn holding paper plates in one hand and drinks in the other as they make conversation with anyone and everyone. Harry has a pleasant conversation with Fleur, inquiring about her sister who is still in school. No more people from the Ministry try to talk to him, for which he is grateful, and he is happy to stand on the edge of the party and quietly observe the celebration with Luna.

Percy apparently isn’t one for much dancing, to no one’s surprise. The band plays a couple of lively songs but Harry and Ginny leave the wedding unsatisfied. After congratulating Percy and Penelope and saying goodbye to everyone, Harry and a motley crew take a Portkey back to London, end up blasting music in Harry’s flat because his neighbors don’t care, and dancing until the early hours of the morning. Angelina and George are in charge of the music, starting out the party with ‘No Scrubs’ by TLC. Ginny and Hermione shout the words, and even Malfoy knows the lyrics.

“Pansy,” he mouths in explanation. Harry grins.

Destiny’s Child is queued up and the party lasts long into the night, celebrating the marriage of another Weasley brother but also, Harry secretly thinks, feeling the blood thrumming in his veins as he jumps up and down, the floorboards creaking underneath his feet, it is serving as a fierce reminder: I am, I am, I am.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! as always, thank you for reading <3 i feel like i did not do this chapter justice but i was tired of writing it so i hope it is satisfying. i also think i really went off with the commas i just do not know how to use them properly...u know what? it happens


	9. Chapter 9

The seven days following Percy’s wedding go like this: Harry wakes up early in the morning and makes coffee and eats breakfast and lies in bed or sits on his sofa or at his kitchen table and reads. And while he is reading, he waits for an owl from Malfoy. A book may occupy Harry’s mind for an hour or so, but when he puts it down he’s back to worrying about Malfoy, who had spent a few days at the Manor and now has seemingly dropped off the face of the earth. Harry paces around his flat and finds ways to waste the day away and by the time the sun sets, he is cursing himself for not being more productive, frustrated with both himself and Malfoy for shutting him out.

On the eighth day, Harry’s had enough. He turns up at Malfoy’s flat a little past noon and bangs loudly on the door with his fist. No one answers, and so he pulls out his wand and casts  _ alohomora.  _ The door swings open and Harry takes a few tentative steps inside, peering around to look for Malfoy, who’s surely heard the break-in. The bedroom door is wide open and Malfoy is lying there with a cup of tea, listening to music and staring dejectedly at the front cover of a book.

He glances up as Harry walks in. “Do I need to put wards up?” he asks.

Harry sighs through his nose. “You alright, mate?”

Malfoy looks at him flatly. “Alright.”

Harry goes to sit on the bed beside him. “You could have called,” he says.

“I know that,” replies Malfoy.

“Er, okay,” says Harry. If Malfoy isn’t willing to talk, there’s nothing really else to say. So he sprawls out on the big bed, lying on his back, kicking off his shoes and gently prying the book out of Malfoy’s hands. He protests a bit, but stops complaining when Harry begins to read aloud.

Harry reads for an hour at least, lost in the story. He glances over at Malfoy every now and again. Sometimes he seems entranced by the story, other times lost in his own head, but Harry keeps reading. Eventually his voice grows hoarse and he pauses, lowering the book.

Malfoy looks over, frowning. “Why’d you stop?” he asks. “It was just getting good.”

“Something to drink?”

“You know where the kitchen is,” he drawls.

Harry hoists himself up and returns with a glass of water. Malfoy reaches for the glass, and unthinking, Harry hands it over to him. After finishing the whole thing, Malfoy releases a large burp.

“Disgusting,” Harry complains, waving a hand in front of his nose. “Really foul, Malfoy. You drank all my water too?”

“You can get more,” Malfoy points out.

“Not the point,” grumbles Harry, but he does get more water. He doesn’t pick up the book immediately when he gets back, instead looking at Malfoy, searching for something in his face.

“I know what you’re thinking, Potter,” he snaps.

“Okay,” Harry agrees.

“My mother’s fine,” Malfoy says. “Really, she’s doing fine. I think she’s grateful for a bit of peace and quiet.”

“She’s not lonely at all?”

Malfoy shrugs. “She sees Andromeda and Teddy a fair bit. She wants me to visit more, but I’d rather marry a Dementor to be honest.”

“After all this about making me commit a crime to stop you from getting married? Rude,” Harry says.

Malfoy just rolls his eyes. “As I was  _ saying _ , she’s doing well. I just -- being back there is just hard. I hate that place.”

“I understand,” responds Harry, and he does. Malfoy seems unwilling to say anything more, and so Harry picks up the book again, and continues to read.

He makes dinner that night in Malfoy’s flat after a thorough cleaning of the kitchen, which Malfoy, perched on top of the table wrapped in a large blanket, watches with glee.

“You missed a spot,” he keeps pointing out, and more than once Harry turns around and sprays him with the disinfectant. Instead of making Malfoy shut up, however, it just causes him to shriek and retreat farther away.

They eat dinner and then Malfoy goes out onto the balcony to smoke and then they sit on the couch, unable to watch anything because Malfoy doesn’t have a television. They read and play cards long after the sun sets, and when Harry finally rises from the couch to leave, Malfoy raises his head.

“Thanks, Potter,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harry can’t ignore the way his heart swells, just a little bit, at the sight of his faint smile and the way that he’d known Malfoy well enough to know something was wrong and come over unannounced and not only that, but his presence was  _ welcome. _ And Malfoy had said  _ thank you _ .

He’s floating all the way home, glad he’d refused the joint when it was offered to him. Harry sleeps easy that night for the first time in weeks.

\---

“I have a date tonight,” Malfoy declares when he shows up on Harry’s doorstep the next day. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

Harry finishes cleaning his glasses and slides them back onto his nose.

“With who?” he asks. “And why didn’t I hear about this earlier?”

“Ugh,” groans Malfoy. “One of Pansy’s French boys. She’s been pushing me for ages. I had enough of it so finally I acquiesced.”

“Who the fuck uses  _ acquiesced _ in the middle of a sentence?” Harry snorts. “You’re going out with a French boy? One of  _ Pansy’s _ French boys? Good luck, mate.”

“That’s all you have to say?” pouts Malfoy. “You’re no help at all, you know that?”

“I know,” agrees Harry.

“Ugh,” he says again. “I hate this. I hate dating.”

“Hm,” Harry says, unsympathetic. He hasn’t been on a proper date in...well, ever. Not that he’d enjoy it, probably, but it does sound kind of nice to him -- getting to know someone over dinner, discovering more about himself in the process. He’s just had Ginny, really, and then in the past year a couple of meaningless hookups with Muggles who hadn’t known he was The Boy Who Lived.

Meanwhile, Malfoy is still complaining. “Pansy is just so relentless,” he says. “Just because she’s in a happy relationship doesn’t mean we all want to be in one.”

This surprises Harry. “You don’t?”

“I’m in the prime of my life, Potter,” he says. “I have plenty of time to settle down when I become old and boring.”

Harry laughs. “I thought Malfoys didn’t become old and boring.”

“Okay, you’re right. Forget I said that,” he agrees.

“Now, are you going to stop complaining?” asks Harry. “We have enough time to watch an episode of the Bake Off, if you want.”

Malfoy immediately shuts up and perches himself on the sofa as Harry turns on the TV. It’s Bread Week, the best week of the entire series. Harry and Malfoy share a bowl of leftover tortellini, not bothering to heat it up or anything. It’s pretty disgusting if Harry’s honest, but he’s much too enraptured in the baking on screen to care all that much. The hour passes by in a blur and soon Malfoy is rising, saying he has to get ready for his date.

“If this goes horribly, I’m calling you to get me out of there,” he says.

Harry nods. “I’m great at excuses. I’ve fallen down the stairs of my apartment building and broken both my legs?”

“Very convincing,” smirks Malfoy.

“Hey,” says Harry. “You can’t complain when you’re the one who needs rescuing.”

“Ugh. I probably  _ will  _ need rescuing too. I don’t want to think about it.” Malfoy rubs a hand over his face.

“Great, well, I’ll look forward to you showing up in the middle of the night to bitch all about your date,” Harry says.

“Don’t wait up for me,” calls Malfoy as he saunters at the door.

“Don’t go!” Harry yells after him. “Malfoy, help me! My cat is stuck in a tree and I can’t get him down!”

Malfoy shoots him two fingers as he rounds the corner and disappears from view. Maybe Harry _ should _ get a cat.

Malfoy does not call that night. No owls, no firecalls, no banging on the door in the middle of the night demanding to be let in for a cup of tea. Harry therefore can only assume that that date has gone well, and Malfoy is occupied tonight. He blocks the thought from his mind. Thinking about Malfoy having sex -- not an image he wants to picture.

So Harry goes to bed but instead of falling asleep he lies in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about how lonely he is. He doesn’t usually feel lonely; he’s used to being by himself. Whenever he gets sad he always has a friend to lean on, a fact for which he is eternally grateful. But at one in the morning, the room uncomfortably warm, the moonlight shining through the window, casting strange shadows over all the furniture in his room, Harry just wishes he was in love. To experience it, even just once. His heart aches with how much he wants it.

\---

Harry grins at the ginger tabby cat he has just acquired. It’s meowing softly and winding around his legs, looking up at him. Ginny has christened the cat Mango, and of course he’s a Weasley and not a Potter because of his orange fur.

“A cat!” she’d exclaimed when he brought up the subject, meeting her after Quidditch practice one scorching afternoon. “Yes, Harry, you have to take me with you.” He’d known there was no use arguing, and the very same day they had gone to the animal shelter to pick up Mango. And now here he is, acquainting himself with Harry’s flat and getting fur everywhere already.

Harry can just imagine what Malfoy will say when he sees Mango.  _ Potter, I leave you alone for one day and you get a cat? This creature is shedding, is it supposed to do that? He’s climbing on me, Potter, his claws! _

“What are you smiling about?” asks Ginny from the floor. Mango happily clambers into her lap and she gently strokes his stomach.

“Nothing,” Harry says hastily. He hadn’t even realized he was smiling in the first place.

“Tell me!” she insists, reaching over to pinch his leg.

Harry darts out of the way. “Hey!” he says. “I wasn’t thinking about anything. I just, er, Malfoy’s going to have a fit when he sees I’ve got a cat.”

Ginny raises her eyebrows. “Why don’t you just invite him over?” she asks. Harry reaches down to pluck Mango out of her lap. She protests, but it’s  _ his _ cat so he doesn’t really care, especially not when Mango starts purring loudly, his little kitten body pressed against Harry’s chest. He begins to knead at Harry’s shirt with his tiny claws.

“Why would I do that?” asks Harry.

“Because you were just thinking about him?”

“So?” he says, setting Mango down. “I have other friends too, you know.”

“Harry,” she says slowly. “You’re a bit whipped for him, though.”

He frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on,” says Ginny. “You don’t need to play games with me! You’ve been hanging out all the time recently and your relationship just seems a little too...intense to be just friends. You can be honest with me, you know.”

It had taken Harry a second to catch her meaning, but once he understands, he just laughs. “You’ve got it all wrong, Gin. Seriously, I don’t see him that way at all.”

“Okay,” she says, but it’s clear she doesn’t believe him at all.

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” he insists. “There’s nothing going on there.”

Ginny looks at him suspiciously. “Why are you over at his flat all the time, then? Whenever I want to hang out with you, you’re always over there.”

Harry brushes her hair out of her face and puts an arm around her shoulders. “Now that you’re absolutely killing the game with the Harpies, I had to find a replacement best friend. It’s your fault really that it happened to be Malfoy.”

She groans. “You’re a terror.”

“So I’ve heard,” says Harry, and then glimpses Mango in the bathroom, drinking the water out of the toilet bowl.

“Fuck!” Ginny says, laughing, and they run after him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> star wars, sleepovers, virginia woolf -- also some mature content in this boi

They’re at the Weasley’s Sunday dinner, yet again. Harry has nothing to occupy his weeks, the only semblance of structure and routine he has in his life are these dinners. Today Malfoy’s accompanied him, and everyone’s gotten a bit more rowdy than they’d planned. George had brought a new invention for them to try out and it’s gotten everyone extremely high.

Molly had been appalled by this at first, but seeing as she’s now higher than any of them, had joined in the fun and now they’re all reenacting  _ Star Wars _ . A New Hope, of course.

Ron calls Luke Skywalker and Hermione is Leia, which is a bit odd when Harry thinks too hard about it. He’s currently watching Ginny and Malfoy arm wrestle for the role of Han Solo. Harry had placed all his bets on Ginny to win; Malfoy’s a thin, wiry boy and Ginny is a professional Quidditch player, but slowly her arm gives out and Malfoy slams her hand to the table.

“Yes!” he cries, triumphant.

“That is so unfair!” Ginny shrieks. “Malfoy, there’s no way you’re Han Solo. You should be Jabba the Hut or something.”

Malfoy scoffs. “Me? I was thinking Harry would make a dashing Jabba.”

“Fuck you,” protests Harry. “I was going to be Darth Vader, thank you very much.”

“I’ll be Obi Wan,” Luna adds. “Gin, maybe you should be Jabba since you don’t have a role yet.”

Ginny turns to her, pretending to be wounded. “Et tu, Luna?”

The entire room bursts into laughter. Harry almost falls off the arm of the chair where he’s perched and grabs onto Malfoy’s arm to keep himself balanced.

“Careful, Potter,” Malfoy murmurs in his ear, placing a hand on the small of Harry’s back. “Don’t want to injure yourself.”

Harry flushes, remembering what Ginny had said about Malfoy the other day. He shoots Malfoy a smile and rights himself.

“Let’s do the scene where Luke and Han are rescuing Leia from Vader’s ship,” Ron suggests.

Harry jumps at the chance to do something that will take his mind off of Malfoy’s distracting hand placement. Ron charms the script so that the words hover in the air, Malfoy and Ron begin to shout at each other on their mission to reach Hermione.

Hermione has retrieved several large sticks from the yard and tosses one to Harry, who immediately breaks the script and attacks Ginny in retaliation for suggesting he play Jabba. They duel, and then Harry remembers technically he can use the Force.

“I should have known you were kinky, Potter,” Malfoy sneers after Harry makes the grave mistake of pretending to choke his supposed enemies. Harry flushes a deep red but thankfully is rescued by Ginny herself, who whirls on Malfoy with her stick, still bitter he’d won the arm wrestle.

While Malfoy is busy defending himself, Harry recaptures Leia/Hermione and decides to hold her hostage at the far end of the room.

“This isn’t how the film goes,” complains Ron, looking around at the chaos.

“You’re losing the battle,” says Harry, “Look at all this infighting! Come on, Ron, join the Dark Side and help me defend Hermione from these heathens.”

“So tempting,” he sighs wistfully. “What would Luke do?”

And of course Luke would never join the Dark Side and so at this, everyone gangs up on Harry and he is defeated at last. Ron tackles him to the floor and Harry’s laughing too hard to even attempt to fight back.

“This was fun,” sighs Hermione, slithering to the floor beside Harry after Ron eventually lets him go.

“Bit ridiculous that we, literal witches and wizards, just fought each other with sticks,” comments Malfoy, brushing a sweaty strand of hair out of his face and plopping down in the armchair.

Harry grins up at him. “Just a bit,” he says. “Too bad we don’t have actual Lighsabers.”

They lounge about the living room for some time after this, telling stories from Hogwarts and all of the shenanigans The Golden Trio had gotten up to. Ginny has more than her fair share of crazy stories as well, which she reveals gleefully as she lies with her head in Luna’s lap. Soon Molly and Arthur grow tired and head to bed, and the rest of the group takes this as their cue to leave as well.

“Did you drive here?” asks Malfoy as Harry makes his way over to the foyer.

Harry nods. It had been a lovely summer evening and he’d wanted to bring the motorcycle to show Arthur just how much he loves it. “Yeah, why?”

“My Floo is broken and I don’t think I should apparate in this condition,” Malfoy says. “That concoction George brought really did a number on me.”

“Oh,” says Harry. “Well, I can give you a lift if you want.”

“That would be lovely, thank you, Potter,” he replies.

“I don’t have an extra helmet, but I’ll drive carefully. Ish.”

Malfoy shudders. “I better not see that lunatic driving you were doing the other day.”

“Or what?” teases Harry, opening the door and following Malfoy outside.

“I’ll die, probably,” he says gravely.

Harry rolls his eyes and climbs onto his bike. Malfoy gets on behind him, tentatively holding Harry’s waist.

“You’re gonna want to hold on tighter than that, you’ll fall off.” Harry starts the bike and takes off down the street. Malfoy tightens his arms around him and presses his face into Harry’s shoulder and they recklessly zip back to London.

“Fuck,” Harry says as he parks, looking up at his flat and then glancing back to Malfoy. “I meant to drop you off at your place.”

Whatever Malfoy’s about to say is interrupted by a huge yawn. “I can just crash here,” he says and follows Harry up the stairs and inside.

“Suit yourself,” says Harry, kicking off his shoes. Exhausted, he pulls off his glasses and scrubs at his eyes. He hears Malfoy make a strange noise, but as far as Harry can see with his blurry vision, nothing’s the matter and so he just nods and tosses Malfoy a blanket and a pillow.

“Night,” he mumbles, trudging into the bedroom.

After going about his usual nightly routine, Harry lies in his bed, Mango curled up next to him, and tries to fall asleep. Maybe it’s the fact that Malfoy is sleeping in his living room right now or something else, but after an hour of tossing and turning he gets up to grab a glass of water from the kitchen. He creeps out into the hallway and into the kitchen, wincing as the cabinet squeaks when he nudges it open. Harry fills his glass and turns around to find Malfoy looking at him, eyes wide open.

“Did I wake you?” Harry asks guiltily, feeling a strange sense of deja vu.

Malfoy just shakes his head. “Can’t stop thinking.”

Harry nods and shuffles to the sofa, feeling his way in the dark. He takes a seat, moving Malfoy’s legs to his lap. “About what?”

“Life, I guess. Don’t know what I’m doing with myself.”

“Me either,” agrees Harry. “The whole point of me skipping my NEWTS was so I would find what  _ I  _ actually like to do instead of doing what other people wanted me to. But what if I don’t enjoy anything?”

“I feel like I’m just being a lazy arse.” Malfoy sighs. “I have my NEWTS, and for what? What am I doing with them? Nothing.”

“You have to cut yourself some slack, though. We were forced to fight a war when we were like, sixteen.”

“I could say the same thing to you, Potter.”

“Yeah, you could.”

Malfoy drops his head back onto his pillow. “Some days I can’t even get out of bed. How am I ever going to have a career?”

“You’re putting too much pressure on yourself,” says Harry. “We’re not even twenty yet, we have plenty of time to figure things out.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now?” asks Malfoy incredulously. “Merlin, we would be so powerful if we could only take our own advice.”

A little snort escapes Harry. “Yeah, like that’s ever going to happen though.”

“Damn our productive, successful friends.”

“At least you have me,” says Harry, even though he knows his friends are struggling too, just hiding it better, “to remind you you could always be more useless.”

Malfoy shoots him an odd, unhappy smile, barely visible in the gloom. “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that,” he says softly.

Harry bites his lip. He feels like if he says anything, he’ll just start crying. Instead he looks at the wall and mindlessly pats Malfoy’s leg. He sits there in silence for a little while, listening to their loud breathing in the quiet of the room.

“Hey, how did your date end up going?” he blurts before he could stop himself. His words feel awkward and clumsy in the silence.

“Er,” Malfoy says, and Harry thinks it’s the first time he’s ever heard him speechless. “It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Harry asks. He doesn’t know why he’s pushing so hard, but for some reason he has to know.

“I only went to make Pansy happy,” Malfoy says shortly. “It was unremarkable.”

“Oh.” Harry sits and processes this information for a while, eventually rising and returning to the bedroom, but Malfoy’s words swirl around in his mind, chasing him even in his dreams.

\---

It happens one day out of the blue. Like every other day this week, Harry is in Malfoy’s flat, this time sprawled out on his bed and reading a collection of Virginia Woolf’s letters to Vita Sackville-West as Malfoy putters around and waters his houseplants.

_ I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia _ , Harry reads, before getting distracted as Malfoy sticks his index finger, rings and all, into a pot to see if the soil is still moist. He grumbles a bit and dusts off his hand before watering the plant. Harry can’t suppress a smile before turning back to his book.

_ It is incredible how essential to me you have become. I suppose you are accustomed to people saying these things. Damn you, spoilt creature; I shan’t make you love me any the more by giving myself away like this — but oh my dear, I can’t be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that. Too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defences. And I don’t really resent it. _

And then he looks up just as Malfoy lets out a cry, exclaiming, “A mealybug on my aloe!” and holds up a large plant to inspect it closely. “This is horrible. What if all my other plants are infested?”

Suddenly Harry’s struck with a clenching feeling in his chest a bit like he’s just jumped off a cliff -- exhilarating, terrifying. And fuck, a piece of truth falls into place, the last piece of a puzzle he didn’t know he was solving, and suddenly the whole world comes into sharper focus. Somehow it’s taken a combination of the softness, mundane of this moment and Vita’s letter: It is incredible how essential to me you have become, you have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love -- for it to hit him like a freight train. He’s in love with Malfoy. He probably has been in love with him this whole time.

“Are you okay?” asks Malfoy in the sudden silence, frowning at him.

Harry doesn’t know what to say, his throat has gone dry, his heart is beating too quickly. “Yeah,” he tries to say, but it doesn’t come out quite right the first time, so he has to clear his throat and try again. “Yeah,” he repeats. “Is your plant okay?”

Malfoy sighs. “Getting rid of mealybugs is a pain but I think the rest of them are fine. Thankfully.”

Harry thinks he tries to say something in response but nothing will come out of his mouth. He’s helpless as Malfoy gives him a concerned look and sets down the aloe before crawling onto the bed beside him. Pulling the book out of his hands, he scans the paragraph that Harry’s just read. He goes quiet for a moment after he finishes reading the letter.

“To have a love like theirs,” he says softly. Harry closes his eyes. He always feels so  _ seen _ around Malfoy, it’s impossible to hide any of his feelings from him; even when he thinks he’s doing a good job Malfoy will make a little jab that proves just how transparent Harry’s been all along.

He feels a cool hand on his arm and opens his eyes to find Malfoy staring at him, something imperceptible in his expression.

“Throw over your man, I say, and come,” he quotes. As he speaks, Harry’s gaze flickers from Malfoy’s grey eyes to his lips, just for a second. But Malfoy notices, just like he notices everything else, and then he’s leaning forward and kissing Harry.

Harry didn’t realize he’d been dreaming of this moment until it happened.

Malfoy’s lips are hot against his own, and Harry leans into the kiss, opening his mouth slightly and gently sucking on Malfoy’s bottom lip. He makes a small noise and pulls Harry closer, hungrily, reaching a hand up to touch his face, slipping his tongue into Harry’s mouth. At this, Harry lets out a soft sigh of contentment, and Malfoy pulls away to look at him, the corners of his mouth quirked up in a smile.

“Damn you, Potter, I was trying to play it cool over here,” he says when Harry reaches over to poke his cheek.

“Since when have you ever been cool?” Harry asks wryly, and pulls him back towards him for another kiss. Their mouths slide against each other, the kisses growing sloppier and more urgent. Malfoy rolls on top of Harry for a better angle, and instinctively Harry grinds his hips up into Malfoy’s.

Malfoy lets out a low, breathy sound, which only makes him want to do it again. Breathing heavily, Malfoy sits up, spreading one hand across Harry’s chest. “Are we going to discuss this first, or--”

Harry looks up at him. His blond hair is in his eyes, face flushed, looking completely undone. Harry’s heart thuds painfully, and he reaches up to pull Malfoy back towards him. “This would be a really great time for you to stop talking,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to Malfoy’s jaw, his ear, sucking a bruise into his neck. Malfoy obliges, running a hand under Harry’s shirt and up his ribcage.

Harry’s shirt comes off, then Malfoy’s, and they’re lying on the bed half-naked, making out for what seems like hours. Harry never wants to stop kissing Malfoy as long as he lives, he could do this forever and never get tired of it. He can feel how hard Malfoy is through the many layers of clothing between them, and eventually Malfoy ventures a hand beneath Harry’s waistband. Harry gasps at his touch, letting go of Malfoy to undo the buttons on his trousers. Malfoy helps slide them off his legs before doing the same with his own.

“Can I…?” he hesitates. Harry nods, not trusting himself to speak, and Malfoy moves to pull down his boxers. “God, you’re perfect,” he breathes, “It should be illegal, how good you look.” And then he bends his head and takes Harry into his mouth.

Harry swears loudly and lets his head drop back onto the bed. Malfoy looks up at him, his grey eyes flashing wickedly, mouth making obscene noises against Harry’s skin.

“The fuck,” Harry chokes out. “How are you so good at this?”

Malfoy just hums, the vibrations reverberating through Harry’s body. It doesn’t take long before he comes, Malfoy working him through it before crawling up beside Harry and kissing him roughly.

Harry indulges this for a few minutes, enjoying the taste of himself in Malfoy’s mouth, and then reaches down to press a hand to the front of Malfoy’s pants. He responds eagerly, grinding his hips into Harry’s hand.

“Wait, wait,” Harry pants. “I want to suck you off.”

“Well, get on with it then,” Malfoy says breathily, his voice lacking all of its usual bite. He clenches a fist in Harry’s hair as Harry’s head bobs up and down, concentrating as Malfoy’s cock hits the back of his throat again and again.

“God --  _ Harry _ ,” Malfoy gasps when he comes. All the blood rushes to Harry’s face when he hears this and suddenly he’s incensed with a feeling that’s too overwhelming to name.

He scoots over and rests his head on Malfoy’s chest. “Let’s do that again later,” he says. Malfoy murmurs an agreement, sliding a palm through Harry’s hair and twirling the strands around his fingers. Harry loosely holds Malfoy’s other hand, rubbing his thumb against his smooth skin.

“What’s this?” Malfoy asks, pulling Harry’s hand closer to look at the scar there.

“Ah,” he sheepishly replies, “I must not tell lies.”

“Umbridge did that to you?” he says, aghast. “That hag.”

Harry bites back a nasty comment, knowing it will only ruin this moment. Instead he presses a kiss to the back of Malfoy’s hand -- he can  _ do  _ that now, and closes his eyes.

“Did you know,” Malfoy says casually, as if he’s just thought of it, “that I had a crush on you in school?”

“Really?” asks Harry. “When?”

“Third year,” he replies. “That was the start of it. I don’t think I realized it was a crush at the time though. I just had this weird fixation with you.”

Harry laughs at this. “To be fair, I was obsessed with you too.”

“Obviously,” drawls Malfoy. “Fourth year I hated you because I was just beginning to realize I was gay, and then fifth year I liked you again. And then obviously sixth year we tried to kill each other, but that was due to external factors.”

“So what I’m hearing is, you were so mean because you were just too horny for me,” teases Harry.

Malfoy shrugs. “Can you blame me?”

“You’re right. I’m a catch,” he says, and Malfoy tackles him.

They have sex again later in the bedroom, in the kitchen, on the sofa. Once Harry’s started touching Malfoy he can’t stop, he never wants to stop. He follows Malfoy into the shower that night too. This time is much slower than the other times; they undress each other almost reverently. Harry drops his lips to Malfoy’s bare shoulder, kissing his way down his chest to his navel, unbuttoning his jeans and then dropping to his knees. The water in the shower hisses behind them, and Draco babbles something about being wasteful.

Harry is too caught up in the taste of Malfoy in his mouth and the sounds of his pleasure to care much, but he obliges and they stumble into the shower together. The water is warm and Harry presses Malfoy into the wall, kissing him deeply.

“Cold,” he complains as his back hits the tile, but doesn’t move from Harry’s grip.

They stay like that for a while, kissing leisurely among other things. Eventually Malfoy moves to lather Harry’s hair with his minty shampoo and Harry closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling of his long fingers against his scalp.

As he stands there with his eyes closed, Harry’s reminded of Ginny’s words, just the week before, when she’d asked if there was anything going on between them. And genuinely there hadn’t been, but now Harry can’t imagine what life was like before he was allowed to kiss Malfoy.

“What are you thinking about?” Malfoy asks, dropping a kiss to Harry’s shoulder.

“Nothing,” Harry says. “Just, I should probably call you Draco now, huh?”

Malfoy -- no, Draco -- smiles. It’s contagious, Harry’s smiling now too. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t have stopped the stupid grin that spreads across his face.

“Harry,” Draco whispers, feeling out how his name sounds on his tongue. Harry sighs softly and pulls him close.

“We really are wasting water now,” he murmurs against Draco’s lips. “It’s getting cold.”

Draco kisses him one last time before reaching over to turn off the water. They dry off and stumble to the bed. Draco lifts the covers for Harry to climb in beside him, and Harry wraps his arms around his chest, resting his chin on his blond hair and breathing in the smell of his shampoo. Harry wonders if he smells like Draco’s soap now too.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spoilers for emma by jane austen in this chapter im sorry

“Should we maybe talk about this?” asks Draco six days later as they sit in the cafe-bookstore, sipping lattes and reading each other excerpts of their respective books ( _Emma_ for Draco,  _ The Fire Next Time _ for Harry).

“Talk about what?” ask Harry, only half-paying attention.

“This,” Draco says, gesturing to themselves.

Harry blink and sets his book facedown on the table. “Oh. I guess. If you want.” Their relationship is largely unchanged, except for the sex part (which has taken up most of the past week) and the fact that they are now on a first name basis. But other than that they remain the same as ever --  _Draco_ remains the same as ever: maddening, infuriating, unfairly attractive.

Draco makes a sound of frustration. “What I  _want_ ,” he says, “is for you to tell me what you want.”

“I love you,” Harry blurts out and promptly turns a bright shade of scarlet. He hadn’t meant to say it, but once he opened his mouth he hadn’t been able to stop himself. Draco stares at him, speechless. “Er, I’ve been loving you, I think,” he adds hastily. “I mean, if it’s too soon, I--”

“Potter. Shut up.” Draco leans over and presses his lips to Harry’s. “I love you too, daft boy.”

“Er,” Harry says again, dazed, and lifts his fingers to touch his mouth.

Draco laughs, not unkindly, and reaches across the table for his other hand. “Listen to this,” he says, picking up his book. “This is the scene where Knightley is confessing his love for Emma.”

Harry squeezes his hand. “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.”

“Hey, I was trying to have a moment here,” protests Draco. “But yeah. I mean.”

“Can we get out of here?” asks Harry, looking around at the coffee shop. “I really want to kiss you right now. Not the kind of kiss that’s appropriate in public.”

Draco drains the rest of his coffee and stands. “I thought you’d never ask.”

\---

Hermione has suggested a meander through Kensington Gardens and so she, Ron, and Harry stroll slowly through the park, talking about how shitfaced they’re going to get later that night at the pub.

“I, er, should probably tell you guys something,” Harry says when the conversation comes to a lull.

“What’s up?” asks Ron.

“Er. I started seeing someone.” Harry looks at the ground.

He nods wisely. “Who?”

“Draco,” says Harry. “Malfoy. Um. Him.”

“Good for you mate,” Ron says, clapping him on the back. “It was about time, I say.”

Hermione kisses Harry on the cheek. “Happy for you both. Ron’s right, it was about time. At the last Weasley dinner you could practically cut the sexual tension with a knife.”

“Oh, God.” Harry buries his face in his hands. “Ginny’s never going to let me live this down.”

“Probably not,” agrees Ron. “She was the one who called it first. We have bets, actually--”

“Ron!” Hermione interrupts.

“I’m just saying, not that it matters, but some of us will be making bank off this relationship. It is a relationship, right?”

“I’m so embarrassed,” groans Harry. “Yeah, it is a relationship. I, er, really love him, actually. It’s horrible.”

Hermione laughs. “Sounds about right. That’s basically how I feel about Ron.” She makes a face.

“Gross,” says Harry. “I hate it. I feel like I’m dying.”

“Are you wearing one of his rings?” she asks, peering at the gold band on Harry’s pinky finger.

“Ugh.” Harry blushes again. “Yeah. He thinks I’m obsessed with his rings, which, to be fair, I kind of am.”

“Yeah, you’re whipped,” Ron declares.

Harry shoves him. “Okay, okay, that’s enough. Let’s talk about something else, _please_.”

“Is Malfoy coming to pub night tonight?”

“Probably.”

“Seamus and Dean will be thrilled,” Hermione responds.

“You don’t think they’ll be upset Malfoy’s off the market? I think they wanted to have a threesome with--”

“Oh my God, enough!” Harry covers his ears. “I don’t need to hear about how my friends want to fuck my boyfriend, thank you very much.”

Ron winces. “Sorry, mate. Nice weather we’re having?”

Harry just bursts out laughing and slings an arm around Ron’s shoulder. Really, he’s too happy to care much about his friends’ teasing.

Later that night, Harry meets Draco at his flat and they apparate to the Leaky, where tonight’s pub night is taking place.

“You alright?” Harry asks, taking his hand.

“Of course. I’ve hung out with your friends many times before,” Draco says stiffly.

“Sure,” he agrees, “but not as my boyfriend.”

“Right, him.” Draco blows out a breath, as if to steel himself, and pushes open the door. Harry follows close behind, weaving his way through the crowd before arriving at a booth at the edge of the room where Ginny and Luna already sit, spiritedly chatting with Neville.

Harry slides into the booth beside Luna, Draco settling in next to him, pressed to his side. Under the table, Harry rests a hand on Draco’s knee. Draco, smiling at the group, strokes a tentative thumb over the back of his hand.

“Neville!” he says happily. “It’s been too long.”

Neville reaches across the table and bumps fists with Harry. “Alright, mate.”

Draco announces that he’s going to go grab a couple drinks from the bar.

“Oh, wait,” Harry says. “I’ll come with you. Do you guys want anything?” he asks, addressing the others.

“Vodka soda!” Ginny requests, to no one’s surprise.

Draco leans against the bar and requests two shots of firewhiskey along with their pints. As they wait, he reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind Harry’s ear.

“It seems we’ve come full circle,” he murmurs.

Harry swallows, mouth going dry at his touch. He can’t take his eyes off of Draco, in the dim light of the bar his pale skin and dark shirt and shiny jewelry make him look almost otherworldly, like a marble statue of a god.

“What is it?” asks Draco, poking at Harry, and this breaks the spell. Harry just shakes his head, reaching out to curl his fingers through the belt loops of Draco’s jeans and pull him close.

“Nothing,” he says. “Sometimes it hurts to look at you because I love you so much.”

Draco presses a kiss to the inside of Harry’s wrist. “That’s fucking gay,” he replies.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Nevermind, I take it back.”

“You can’t,” Draco says. “It’s mine.” They exchange a heated look as the bartender places their firewhiskey on the bar. Draco hands a shot to Harry, their hands brushing as he does so, sending a small shiver throughout Harry's body.

“To pub nights,” Harry says, clinking his glass against Draco’s.

“To the rest of our goddamn lives.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello thank u for reading! i wrote this fic mainly so i would start writing again -- and hey, it worked! i had a lot of fun with this, it's rather silly and really i just wrote whatever i felt like writing (and it shows) but regardless i hope you enjoyed. if u feel so inclined u can find me on tumblr @ gnseyiii :-)


End file.
